


A Monster and a Maiden

by GlitterGoth114



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lemon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23051269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterGoth114/pseuds/GlitterGoth114
Summary: "We've had a shit start of it, little bird," he grumbled quietly, gazing at her with heavy eyes, "but the farther we get, the safer you'll be. I will get you home safely, girl. I promise."A/U Sansa left with The Hound after the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Rated for eventual ~things~COMPLETED
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 94
Kudos: 385





	1. Father

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! This is my first GoT fanfic (and my first writing in a hot minute.) Characterization based mainly on the show, but definitely realizing as I've read other fics here that I NEEEED to get back to reading the books! 
> 
> Sansa aged up, 16/17 years old

Chapter One

Sandor  
\---------  
Sandor could hardly see. The green flames still seemed to dance before his eyes, though he hurried now through a dark corridor. The screams echoed through his skull and he grimaced. He stopped and steadied himself on the stone wall with one hand. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily. 

Fuck this.

He took one more steadying breath and then forced his eyes open. The corridor was clearer now, though the screams just as loud. He pushed away from the wall and continued on. 

He reached the stables and slipped inside. Consumed in darkness, he still found his way to his horse. 

"We're leaving this Gods-forsaken place, boy." He grunted to the stallion as he strapped his saddle into position. "Let's get the fuck out of here." 

He led Stranger out of the stable by the reins, and turned to mount him once they were back under the moonlight. Stranger snorted softly, kicking at the ground, and Sandor paused. He looked back at the castle, and saw one room illuminated high in a tower. 

The women and children. 

Fuck them. 

Sandor turned back to Stranger, but couldn't bring himself to hoist into the saddle. Stranger turned his head slightly, and Sandor looked at the beasts eyes. 

"Fuck the girl." He said aloud, and Stranger snorted softly again. Sandor's hands flexed on the edges of the saddles, and he swore. He couldn't leave her during the riot. He couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched Meryn Trant beat her, though his feet had seemed glued to the ground. He couldn't leave her when Joffrey sought her out for torment. And he couldn't leave her now. He led Stranger off the path and secured the reins to a post, trusting the dark to conceal him, before starting back towards the castle. 

Sansa  
\--------------  
Sansa's heartbeat thudded so loudly in her ears that it almost drowned out the screams from the battlefield below. Almost. Tears sprang to the corners of her eyes and she sped up, longing for the safety of her chambers. 

"Stannis won't hurt you, m'lady. Run!" Shae had hissed to her, and Sansa obeyed blindly. 

But what if he did? Her father had died for his honor. Her brother had taken up arms to avenge their father. Arya had fled, Gods know where. And here was Sansa, still betrothed to the king who had ordered her father executed. 

She wasn't a traitor of this crown, the one the Lannisters held. But she had betrayed her family, and that was worse than anything. 

The tears finally spilled over as Sansa rounded the last corner before her chamber door. She gathered her skirts higher and broke into a sprint, as though nothing could harm her on her other side of that door. 

She finally reached it, closing it swiftly behind her and throwing the lock. She leaned her forehead against the cool wood, finally surrendering to her sobs. She sank to the floor, whispering prayers that even she didn't fully understand. 

"Little bird." 

She gasped and spun around at the noise, clapping a hand to her mouth. 

"Hound." She whispered. 

"You're smart to run and hide, little bird." He grunted from his hunched over position sat at the foot of her bed. "The battle is nearly lost." 

"What are you doing here?" Sansa breathed, her heart thudding again against her ribs. 

"I'm leaving this wretched city, girl." He raised his head to look at her. "Going somewhere that won't be burnt to the ground come dawn." 

There was silence for a long moment as Sansa trembled on the floor, the Hound looking steadily back at her. 

"But… what are you doing… here?" 

"I know I scare you, girl." His voice was harsh again as he rose to his feet, now towering over her. "But I mean you no harm. I came to take you with me." 

Sansa's breath hitched in her throat. 

"L-leave?" She stammered. "Leave Kings Landing?" 

"Aye." He crossed the room in two steps and pulled her to her feet by the elbow. "I don't want to leave you here with them, little bird. I'll take you home. I'll keep you safe." 

Sansa nodded wordlessly, staring up at his twisted face. The cruel lines were gone, but he still appeared stony and mean. 

"Pack your things then, girl, and be quick about it." Sandor pushed her away from the door by her elbow, taking a long swig from a wine skin she hadn't noticed before. 

Sansa cleared her throat softly a moment later, and the Hound turned from her window. 

"Put on that cloak and keep your hood low." He grunted at her, taking another long drink. Sansa obeyed immediately, and then looked back up at the huge man in front of her. He stepped closer and sighed when she flinched. "Little bird…" he whispered, "we'll not make it past the gates if you can't contain your fear of me. I promise I won't hurt you." 

Sansa nodded once and stepped towards him, extending a shaky hand. The Hound smirked slightly and bent low to scoop her up. His forearm rested below her thighs and he pulled her against his side, drawing his longsword with his free hand. 

"Hold tight to me, girl, and keep your face hidden." He grunted as he left her chamber. Sansa quickly secured her arms around his neck and lowered her face into his shoulder as he moved quickly down the corridor, trying to push the image of his bloody sword from her mind.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and didn't open them until she felt the cool breeze when they left the keep. She raised her face slightly and the Hound grumbled, "not yet, girl." 

When he finally slowed, Sansa turned her head and risked a peek. They were at the stables, and a large black war horse was ready and waiting for them. 

He came back for me.

The Hound lifted her easily into the saddle and grabbed her small bag with rough hands, stuffing it down into a saddlebag. He hoisted himself onto the saddle in front of her and took the reins. 

"We ride hard for now, girl. Hold on to me if you can't steady yourself, and keep your head down." 

Sansa quickly wrapped her thin arms around his waist and let her forehead rest against the smooth armour at his back. The horse broke into a quick gallop and Sansa instinctively clenched her arms, afraid she would be thrown from the horseback. 

They rode until the sky began to lighten, and the Hound guided the horse off the main rode, deep into the trees. Sansa didn't know if it had been two hours or 10 since they had left the keep. All she knew was that every inch of her body ached with the effort of clinging onto the horse and she was exhausted. 

The horse finally halted and the Hound dismounted, then offered a hand to Sansa to help her down. She winced and whimpered as her legs stretched uncomfortably. 

"You'll get used to the long rides, girl." The Hound promised. "Stretch your legs, rest some if you can. Stay here with the horse." He started off into the trees. 

"Wait!" Sansa objected. "Where are you going?" 

"Not far, little bird." He called over his shoulder with a dry chuckle. 

Sansa wrapped her arms tight around herself and placed back and forth next to the horse, trying to regain normal feeling in her aching legs. She kept looking into the trees where the Hound had disappeared, but he had long vanished and there was no sign of him. 

Just as Sansa began to grow desperately worried, he emerged from between the trees. His hard plated armor was swinging loosely at his side, his hair was dripping wet and pushed back from his face, which was clean of the dirt and blood that had caked it before. Sansa stilled her pacing as he drew closer, clad now only in a loose linen tunic and calfskin breeches. 

"Straight through those trees girl," he pointed with his free hand the direction he'd returned from, dropped the armor from his other hand. "There's a stream. The waters cold but you can clean yourself up. Leave the cloak so it doesn't get wet." He turned away from her and opened a saddlebag. 

Sansa hesitated, looking from the Hound to the trees and back again. He heaved an exasperated sigh when he turned and saw her still standing nervously before him. 

"I won't be able to see you, girl. Strip as naked as you were on your first name day and I'd never know." 

Sansa unclipped the cloak from around her throat and dropped it to the ground beside his armor. She didn't know if being out of his sight was reassuring or terrifying, but she desperately needed to relieve herself, so she set off into the trees. 

She came upon to stream soon enough, and after a hesitant look over her shoulder, she lifted her skirts and squatted. 

She rinsed her hands in the stream and splashed water on her face, wondering what the next weeks would have in store while the Hound traveled her to Winterfell. 

After a few moments she started back the way she'd come, stopped in her tracks when she heard the unmistakable sound of steel on steel. She contemplated for a moment whether to return to the Hound or make a run for it, before setting off at a run towards the sound of fighting. She slowed and hid behind a tree as she drew close. 

There were two bodies on the ground already, and her hand flew to her mouth when she saw that the unarmored Hound was fighting two gold cloaks. A third body fell, and the Hound rounded on the last soldier, his huge hands flexing on his swords helm. Another few moments, and the last soldier fell. 

"Girl!" The Hound shouted, and Sansa hurried from behind the tree. "Get on the fucking horse." He growled, quickly buckling his armor back into place. 

"You're hurt!" Sansa objected, watching a red stain spread across the Hound's side. 

"I said get on the fucking horse!" He shouted.

Sansa snatched her cloak off the ground and clambered onto the great horses back. She turned and saw the Hound lift a small purse from one of the soldiers before heaving himself up behind her. He kicked the horse back into a gallop and Sansa held tight to the front of the saddle as silent tears began to stream down her cheeks.

They rode all day and well into the night. Several times Sansa opened her mouth to ask for a break, but the words caught in her throat every time, so she said nothing. 

Only when the moon was high in the sky did the Hound finally slow at the sight of a small farm. There was no livestock as far as she could see, and no smoke from the chimney. Still the Hound rode past the cabin to a barn a ways away. 

He dismounted and led the horse into the barn on foot, pushing the door shut behind them. Sansa shivered in the near total darkness, and jumped when she felt the Hound's hand. It slid across her thigh and she tensed before realizing he was searching for her hand to help her down. 

He set her down less gently than before, and she almost collapsed from being so sore, but caught herself on his arm. She sank to the ground and remained still and silent while the Hound gathered supplies and started a small fire. She watched him from across the dancing flames as he unbuckled and shed his armor, then dropped down onto a bale of hay. 

"They were looking for you." He finally broke the silence, meeting her gaze from across the flames. 

Sansa gulped. 

"If I fall, girl, you tell them I kidnapped you. Tell them whatever you have to, to stay alive." 

Sansa nodded hesitantly, her eyes falling to the large red stain on his tunic. 

"Ser, let me help w-" 

"I'm not a fucking knight." He snarled, and she fell silent, dropping her gaze to her hands. They were silent for a long moment before he sighed. "What were you going to say, little bird?" 

"May I help with your wound?" She asked in a small voice, without raising her eyes. 

"Its nothing, don't worry your pretty little head over it." He snapped. 

She nodded once, still staring at her hands. 

"Fine, get on with it, girl." He said finally, and Sansa rose to her feet at once and came to his side. "In the saddlebag," he stopped her, "two wineskins. One has water from the stream, the other has wine. Bring them both."

She found the skins easily and dropped to her knees at his side. He swept the soiled tunic over his head and took one of the skins. Sansa heard him remove the cap and sniff, then took a long drink as she inspected the slice in his side. 

He hissed when she touched him, and she quickly snatched her hand away. He grumbled an apology, and lifted the soiled tunic, ripping the unstained side into smaller pieces. She made to wet one with the water, but his large hand stopped her. 

"Drink first, little bird. It's wasted on me anyways." He mumbled, taking another swig of wine. 

Sansa drank, watching the Hound closely. His head lolled back into the hay bale, eyes closed. There were harsh lines of worry etched into his face, but again she didn't sense any of the cruelty she expected. Her eyes examined his expansive chest, which seemed impossibly muscular, all the way down his even more muscled stomach.

She resisted the curious urge to run her fingers along his skin, to feel the dips and rises, wet a piece of linen, and began dabbing at the wound, cleaning away caked on blood. He hissed again, but she didn't stop this time. She pressed a long strip of linen to the cut after it was sufficiently cleaned and made to stand, but the Hound's hand caught hers, and held it against his hard, muscled abdomen. Her heart jumped at the sudden contact. 

"We've had a shit start of it, little bird," he grumbled quietly, gazing at her with heavy eyes, "but the farther we get, the safer you'll be. I will get you home safely, girl. I promise." 

She smiled slightly and placed her free hand on his. "I know you will, my lord. I trust you." 

"I'm not a bleedin' lord neither, girl." He grunted, his eyes slipping closed as he adjusted his position. 

"What shall I call you then?" Sansa asked, half exasperated. 

The Hound opened his eyes again and raised his other hand to her face, gently stroking her cheekbone with his wide thumb, more gentle than she would've thought possible for him. 

"My name, little bird. Call me by my name." 

They held each others gaze for a long moment before she nodded once and corrected herself. 

"I trust you, Sandor." 

And she could've swore that she saw the faintest hint of a smile touch his lips before he dropped his hand and closed his eyes again.


	2. Smith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor contemplates his decision this far, and makes a new decision regarding the journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all that left reviews and kudos on Chapter One! Buckle up for some angsty Sandor.

Sandor 

\------------- 

It took several moments for Sandor to register where he was. He bolted up, ignoring the sharp pain in his side, looking around wildly for the girl. He saw her quickly, on the other side of the smoldering embers from last nights' fire. She had plaited her long hair, and it was draped over her shoulder, small wisps hanging into her face. Her cheek rested on her forearm, and she was curled tightly around herself. Her face was somehow less impassive now than what he was used to seeing. She had mastered the ability to keep her face void of emotion as she moved about the Red Keep, though her eyes betrayed her sadness. Now though, she looked relaxed, one corner of her mouth turned up in a slight smile. 

Sandor shook his head a little, and made to stand. It was only then that he noticed the little bird had draped her traveling cloak over him sometime after he had succumbed to his exhaustion. He felt a pang of guilt, looking back to her small figure. She must've been freezing. 

He heaved himself to his feet with a low groan, and walked around the embers towards her. She looked much smaller than he was used to, curled up on the ground like that. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he raised the cloak to his face, inhaling her sweet scent, before carefully draping it over her frame. She hummed softly in her sleep, but otherwise didn't stir.

Sandor grabbed his longsword, noting as he did so that the girl must have unfastened it from his waist as he slept, and quietly left the barn. He'd really done it this time, hadn't he? Snuck the little bird away from her cage, got himself hurt immediately, and still didn't have an actual plan for how he could get her across the country without being spotted and attacked again. Forget the fact that his fucked up face and immense height made him immediately recognizable and there would surely be a price on his head by now. If he had any sense at all, he would ride for a port and get himself onto the first ship to Essos. He had enough coin, between his tourney winnings and the purse he'd pinched off the dead Gold Cloak, to get himself there, and he could find work as a sell sword. He could even take the little bird, she would be safer there anyways, maybe even happier, and he would stay by her side to protect her.

His stomach tightened at that thought. What a vile man he must be, thinking lustful thoughts about whisking a young girl out of the country instead of returning her safely to her mother. He was a cunt for even allowing the thought across his mind.

She wouldn't want to be watched over by a great beast like him anyways, he thought as he set off towards the little cabin. He would surely just scare away her many suitors. A great beauty, a name that commanded respect the world over, men would be lining in the streets for a chance to claim her. 

Including me.

He shook his head dismissively, as though that would remove the thoughts from his head. He looked into the windows of the cabin as he passed them, and drew his sword when he reached the door, which stood slightly ajar. He entered quietly, checking each of the few rooms for life before he began searching for food. 

He eventually found some dried meat and a skin of wine, and started back to the barn. He did not care for the girl, he told himself. Yes she was beautiful, he couldn't help notice that. She deserved better than the king twat, and wanting better for her didn't mean he had feelings for her. As he approached the door, he resolved to keep her at arms length. No more letting her tend his wounds, or touching her cheek. No more telling her not to fear him, or telling her to call him by his name. He must remember what they are: she is a little bird, and he is a hound. 

Sandor slammed the barn door open in light of this decision, and Sansa opened her eyes and looked around with confused eyes. 

"Wake up, girl." He growled, dropping the meat in front of her. 

"Good morning, Sandor. Thank you." She said sweetly as she sat up. 

"Eat and be quick about it. We need to get a move on." 

"Can't we rest awhile longer?" She asked through a yawn, stretching her arms above her head. 

Sandor looked at her for a moment. Her soft lips smiled sleepily, and her eyes had a sparkle of hope. 

"No." He barked. 

The smile dropped slightly and Sansa picked up the meat and began to eat. 

Sandor turned away and knelt at the side of his sleeping horse. Gently patting his muzzle to wake him. He busied himself at Stranger's side so he wouldn't have to look at Sansa, rifling through saddle bags. He found Sansa's small bag and sighed. She hadn't even found her bag before lying down to sleep, but she'd taken the time to remove the reins from his horse and unfasten his sword belt. 

Sandor dropped the bag next to her and returned to Stranger. He would not let her attempted kindness soften his resolve. He must continue treating her as the daft, naive little girl she was. 

When he turned back to her, he found her watching him curiously. Not his face, her eyes were roaming his body. He froze for a moment, realizing he was still bare-chested after removing his tunic last night, and she slowly raised her eyes to his. 

"The fuck are you looking at, girl?" He snarled, slowly approaching her. 

She winced a little, but didn't break his gaze. 

"You're not as scary as I'd thought," she said softly. 

"Is that right? One day and you're no longer frightened by the sight of me?" He said it as aggressively as he could. 

"You are quite fearsome," she said, still not breaking his gaze, "but no, Sandor. You don't frighten me." 

"Then you're a damned fool. On your feet, girl. We need to get a move on." 

Sansa sighed and attempted to stand, but dropped back to the ground with a whimper. 

"Gods be good, what is it now?" Sandor spat down at her. 

"My legs… they're just sore from riding, is all. I've never ridden so long before." She said, looking up at him with big eyes. Big, shiny, sapphire doe eyes. 

He growled as he grasped her elbow and yanked her to her feet. She cried out and began to fall as soon as soon as he released her, and instinctively, he caught her at the waist and steadied her against him. 

"Take a moment and stretch your legs, girl," he grumbled, mentally cursing himself. Should've let her fall. "Get your bearings." 

She grasped his arms tightly, letting him support her as she tried to stretch. Sandor closed his eyes, attempting to block out her soft gasps and little whimpers. He didn't want to know she was capable of making such noises, else he'd imagine her making them in different circumstances. 

Slowly her grip on his arms eased. 

"Are you right?" He asked sharply dropping his hands from her waist. 

"I… I think so," she whispered, slowly removing one hand and then the other from his arms, then looking back up into his eyes. "Thank you for catching me." 

He grunted and stomped back over to Stranger, snatching a fresh tunic from the saddlebag and yanking it over his head. He fastened his armor back into place and when he turned, Sansa was at his elbow, placing her bag back into the saddlebag. 

"Get on the horse." He instructed as he fastened the bag. 

Sansa clumsily hoisted herself into the saddle, screwing up her face and moaning from the pain. Sandor swore internally. 

"You're in too much pain to ride." He stated, looking up at her. 

She bit her lip and nodded. "I'm sorry," she whispered. 

"Try sitting sideways," he said, "like a proper little lady." 

He instinctively took her hand to steady her as she swung her far leg back towards him. 

"Better?" He snapped. 

"I think so," she said, shifting uncomfortably. 

Sandor hoisted himself up behind her and Stranger began to trot. Sansa gasped and clutched the saddle with one hand. 

"You won't let me fall, will you?" She asked in a small voice, looking up at him. 

The fear in her eyes softened his moody exterior. 

"Aye, little bird. I won't let you fall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think, I do a little happy dance with every review. 😊


	3. Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally stayed up all night writing because I couldn't get this idea out of my head. I thought about waiting and trying to get a chapter ahead but I just couldn't resist. Don't get used to these quick updates though, only because it's the weekend!

Sansa  
\-----------

They had been traveling for days. Her body had not grown used to riding all day, as Sandor had assured her on the first day; every morning she woke in more pain than the last. Sandor seemed to be losing his patience with her, but he had conceded to stop a couple times a day to let her stretch her legs. 

Sansa had tried a few times the day they left the barn to start a conversation. They were companions now and she knew next to nothing about him. Where was he from? What did he do before he was a kings guard? Was that what he always wanted to be? 

But his answers were short and curt, if he answered at all. A few times he had simply instructed her to shut up or grunted. She had tried telling him about herself; how much pride she took in needlework, her love of lemon cakes, how grateful she was that he was returning her to her mother whom she missed desperately. And still, no meaningful response. 

"If you sigh one more fucking time, I'll throw you from the bloody horse." He snapped, breaking the silence. "If you have something to say, then just fucking say it." 

Sansa contemplated for a moment whether to admit she wanted to get to know him, but settled on simply saying, "I need a bath." 

He chuckled dryly. "Not used to traveling without wealth, is that it, girl? Never slept on the ground before?" 

"No." She said, crossing her arms. "I thought we might've stayed at an inn by now." 

He guffawed at that, and she glared up at him. 

"Why is that so funny?" She demanded. 

"You supply the coin, girl, and we can stay at an inn every night for all I fucking care." A mean smile painted his face now, and Sansa glowered at him, before turning her head curtly away. 

A few more hours passed, and Sandor brought the horse to a halt at a stream. He dismounted and helped her slide down as always, then walked toward the stream. Sansa watched curiously with her arms crossed as Sandor began to unfasten his armor. 

She wanted to ask what he was doing, but knew that he'd snap something mean or clever and then smirk when she got annoyed so she didn't bother. 

He dropped his armor to the ground, removed his boots and breeches, and then swept the tunic off. Her eyes widened as he now stood before her completely naked. She couldn't help her eyes drinking up every inch of his body. His broad shoulders, the dark hair across his chest and belly, trailing down to his- 

She gasped a little and averted her eyes. She had never seen a naked man before, and his… man parts were much bigger than she would've thought. 

Sandor didn't seem to realize that she'd been looking and waded into the stream. He was waist deep before he looked back. 

"Come on girl, you're the one who said you needed a bath." 

She approached the stream, watching hesitantly as he began to wash himself. He had turned away, so she began to strip out of her dirty clothes. She hesitated before removing the last bits of her small clothes, but his back was still turned so she quickly swept them off. She made to walk into the stream, but let out a little shriek when she felt how cold it was. 

Sandor's head snapped around at the noise, and her arms jumped to cover herself. 

"What's the matter?" He demanded. 

"It's freezing!" She said indignantly, looking at him as if he was crazy. 

"Aye, bloody well spotted." He returned her incredulous look. "Best get in and get it over with." 

He turned back around and sunk beneath the water. Sansa steeled herself and then charged forward until she too was waist deep in the water. She kept her arms wrapped tight around herself and shivered violently. Sandor emerged from underwater, pushing his wet hair back away from his face. 

"Its not getting any fucking warmer girl, just do it." He advised. 

"I can't." Sansa whined as she pushed forward. The water was halfway up her ribs now. "It's too cold, I can't." 

Sandor rolled his eyes and started towards her. She was too cold to think anything of it, or think anything really. She looked up at him once he was right beside her. He studied her face for a moment, and then without warning he swept the back of her knees with his leg and sent her tumbling beneath the water with a yelp. 

She emerged as soon as she got her feet under her, spluttering and choking. 

"What the hell is the matter with you?!" She yelled, hitting his chest with her open hand. She was so angry she forgot to cover her chest. 

Sandor burst out laughing. 

"It's not funny!" Sansa hit him again, which only made him laugh harder. 

Sansa felt her face grow hot. Her eyes began to prickle. She willed it not to happen, but hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She was embarrassed, frustrated, exhausted, and hungry, and she couldn't hold it in any longer. 

"Little bird…" Sandor still had a hint of amusement in his voice. 

Sansa wrapped her arms back around herself and let out a stifled sob. Sandor sighed. 

"Come here, little bird." He took her by the elbow and pulled her toward him. She tried to fight, but stopped when she felt how warm he still was in spite of the freezing water. "Don't cry, girl. I'm sorry. It wasn't funny." 

He held her against him, one hand on the small of her back and one on her head. She snaked her arms around his waist and pulled herself closer, desperate to get warm. His body stiffened in surprise and then relaxed, swaying her gently back and forth. 

Once Sansa had managed to stifle her cries, though a few tears were still spilling, Sandor used his large hands to cup water and rubbed them down her back and arms, washing her as best he could. 

Sansa was so confused now. Surly for days, mean just before, and now being so gentle. She wanted to shove him away and stomp back to the bank, but Gods he was so warm she didn't think her body would let her break away. 

Why couldn't he just settle on something between hateful and affectionate? Why did it have to be one or the other? Why could he only behave as though he despised her, or loved her? She wanted to shout at him to find a middle ground before he drove her mad. 

"Turn around, girl." He said softly, tugging on her elbow and then pulling her back against his chest. He repeated the same on her front, though carefully avoided her breasts, save a few gentle brushes as he swiped water down her sides. 

He wrapped his arms around her, one across her chest, and one around her waist, and just held her for a moment. She twisted round so she could wrap her arms around his middle again, and he leaned his face into her hair. 

"I'm sorry, little bird." He whispered again, giving her a tight squeeze. "Come on, let's get you warm." 

He half carried her out of the water, and kept her tight against him as he scooped up her cloak and wrapped it tight around her shoulders. He held her a moment longer, then released her, pulling the cloak around her. 

"Dry off and get dressed, girl." He scooped up their discarded clothes and waded back into the stream to wash them. Sansa dried and dressed quickly, then sat on the ground, still shivering. 

Sandor emerged back from the stream after a few minutes, wringing out the clothes and hanging them over branches to dry, before dressing himself in a clean tunic and breeches. He draped his cloak around her, lit a fire, and then set off to hunt dinner. 

They sat in silence for most of the evening, Sansa still wrapped up tight in his cloak and shivering. She hadn't looked at him since they emerged from the water. She was still so upset, and so confused. How could he be a beast one moment, and gentle the next? What did it mean? And what did it mean that she was so eager to bask in those gentle moments?

It had long been dark and dinner finished, and they still hadn't spoken. Sansa scooted closer to the fire and extended her hands to warm them. 

"Are you still cold, girl?" He asked, finally breaking the silence. She looked up at him and nodded silently. "Come here, then." He grunted, extending his arm towards her. 

She rose and approached him slowly, on shaky legs. He pulled the cloak from her shoulders and guided her into his lap. He wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her back tight against his chest, and draped the cloak back over her like a blanket. She settled against him and he took her hands beneath the cloak, squeezing her fingers to warm them.

"Sandor?" Sansa asked finally, unable to stand the silence any longer. 

"Hmm?" 

"Why did you rescue me from king's landing?" She asked softly. 

He stiffened. 

"It wasn't a bloody rescue girl, it was a damned kidnapping." He responded gruffly. 

"You didn't answer my question." Sansa whispered after a long pause. 

"Would you rather be there with the king twat?" He snapped, releasing her hands and standing. "If you'd rather go back or make your own way, then go! Go, girl! I won't fucking stop you." 

"N-no." Sansa choked out. "No, that's not what I-" 

"If I'm such bad bloody company then we can go our own ways, girl. Could've been in fucking Essos by now if I hadn't wasted my time with you." 

"Sandor, please-" 

"More trouble than you're worth, girl! You know that? You wish I'd left you there, is that it?" He raged around on the other side of the fire, seizing his sword belt and fastening it around his waist. 

Sansa began to cry again. 

"I'll not waste any more of my time then, girl!" He shouted, still moving about and packing things up. "Surely you can find your way north from here, or you can find a cozy little inn and send word to your beloved Joffrey that you're safe, and a real fucking knight like in your little stories will come whisk you back to him!" He marched towards Stranger. 

"Don't, Sandor, please!" Sansa sobbed, and he finally turned to her. "Please don't leave me here." She cried, clutching at his cloak. "I'll die if you leave me here, Sandor, I'd rather die than go back there! Please don't go!" 

She collapsed on herself, sobbing into her knees. 

"Sansa… little bird…" 

"Please don't leave me, Sandor, please." She croaked, looking up at him with puffy red eyes, her desperation clear on her face. 

Sandor walked back towards her and Sansa's eye closed, her lips still forming her soundless pleas. Sandor drew his sword and Sansa's eyes shot open. 

"No!" She cried, scrambling back away from him. 

But he knelt in front of her and laid the flat of his sword across his knee. 

"Lady Sansa," he began, and Sansa stilled, her breath heaving. "I am yours. I will shield your back. I will keep your counsel. I will give my life for yours if need be. My sword is yours, my life is yours, my heart is yours." Sansa hiccuped and raised her hands to her mouth as Sandor laid his sword at her feet. "I swear it by the old Gods and the new." 

They stared at each other for a long moment. 

"Sandor…" Sansa whispered, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks as she lurched forward and threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms tight around her, and Sansa clung to him as she cried. "And I vow that you shall always have meat and mead at my table," she whispered in a shaky voice. 

"Hush now, little bird." Sandor murmured into her hair, but she continued. 

"And a place at my hearth. I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor." She leaned back and cupped his face in her hands. "I swear it by the old Gods and the new."

They held each others gaze for a long moment, Sansa still red in the face and breathing heavily. 

"Arise." She breathed, and Sandor rose, his hands falling to the back of her legs to pull her up with him, keeping her face level with his. 

Another single tear fell down Sansa's cheek. She leaned forward and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUNNNNN


	4. Mother

Sandor  
\------------ 

The little bird had fallen asleep in his arms that night. Her little face had nuzzled against his chest and her arms curled gently around his middle. Sandor had remained awake most of the night, unable to quiet his mind. 

Keeping her at a distance had been working. She had been asking fewer questions, treating him with more disdain. He had been sure that they'd be able to peacefully go their separate ways when he got her home, but now? Now he had sworn to protect her. An oath he would be honored to uphold, but he had just sworn himself right into a life of the sweetest torture. 

It had been a few days since, and the girl had seemed more cheerful. She would smile up at him, or hum to herself as they rode. Once or twice she'd leaned against him and snaked her arms around him as they rode. He was trying his damndest to continue being gruff with her but he could feel the very last of his resolve beginning to crash down around him.

"Tired of eating rabbits yet, girl?" He asked, breaking the silence. 

She peered up at him. "No, Sandor. They're quite good." She said politely. 

"It's not a trick, little bird," he smiled a little. "I'm fucking tired of eating rabbits. We'll stop at the next inn for some real food." 

"An inn?" Sansa's eyes sparkled excitedly as she grinned up at him. 

"Just for food, girl. Still camping tonight." He warned. 

She hummed softly and leaned her head on his chest. Without thinking about it, he laid his free hand against the small of her back. She didn't flinch when he touched her anymore, he'd noticed, and it became harder every day not to sweep her into his arms and hold her every chance he got. 

She had only kissed him the once, just after he'd sworn his sword, and he was trying hard to not think about it. He'd decided it was likely just because she was grateful and scared, it meant nothing more than that. She was only nuzzling up to him and wrapping her arms around him because he'd sworn to protect her and she felt safe now. 

He'd thought the words half a hundred times since their journey began, but he never intended to say them aloud. But it seemed the only thing to do at the time, after misunderstanding her so. He shouted at her, he threatened her, and her intentions had been pure, not accusatory. She had truly wanted to know his reasoning in taking her away from there, and he took it all wrong. He couldn't stand the sight of her crying on the ground like that, begging him to stay and protect her. There was nothing else for him to do but make sure she knew how badly he wanted her to be safe and happy.

They finally reached an inn, and Sandor dismounted and then turned as always to help her down. His hands found her hips, and hers found his shoulders, and she held his gaze as he lowered her to the ground. Her hands slid down his arms slightly as her feet touched the ground, and his lingered at her waist. Her breath caught and took the smallest step towards him as his fingers tightened slightly. 

"Afternoon, m'lord!" A stable boy bounded eagerly over to them and Sandor quickly released Sansa's waist. "Might I tend to your horse?" 

"Fine." Sandor grunted and stumped off to the door of the inn, Sansa hurrying behind him. They found seats in a dark corner, Sandor against a wall and Sansa facing him with her hood up so she wouldn't be recognized.

They sat in silence as they ate, Sandor throwing back more wine than food. Sansa took a few sips as well. They were almost finished when a group of soldiers walked in and took the table directly behind Sansa. She looked up at Sandor, fear clear in her eyes. He nodded slightly to her, and she visibly relaxed. 

"The Red Wedding, they're calling it!" The first soldier was saying. 

"Aye, that dumb cunt King in the North married a foreign whore when he was promised to Lord Frey's daughter!" The second soldier said. 

"So Lord Frey lured them in, pretended to forgive the twat, and started killing Stark men at the bloody reception!" The first soldier said, and all four burst into uproarious laughter. 

Sandor's eyes found Sansa's again. Her eyes were wide with worry and her lower lip trembled. Sandor leaned forward and set his hand over hers, silently willing her to keep it together. 

"And then!" The second soldier shouted, "they stabbed the foreign whore right in her pregnancy fucking belly!" 

"Oi!" Sandor grunted to them and they looked around. "What of the twat King in the North? Did they kill the stupid cunt?" 

"Ah that's where it gets murky, friend. Sources seem to agree that the whore is dead, and the twats mother got her throat slit with the same knife. Everyone says the Stark boy took a knife in the gut from one of his bannermen, but can't seem to locate his body. Might've bloody well got away, but I doubt it." The first soldier answered. 

"And where did this happen? At the Twins?" Sandor asked. 

"Aye, Lord Frey apparently made an alliance with the Lannisters when he heard he'd been betrayed. Invited the Starks into his home under guise of a truce." The first soldier responded and they all chuckled. 

"Bloody fascinating." Sandor grunted. Sansa squeezed his hand and Sandor's eyes snapped back to her. She was biting her lip hard and her eyes were squeezed shut. She was trembling. Sandor squeezed her hand back, and lifted his other to wave down the barmaid. "We'll take a room after all," he grunted. "Plenty of wine, and a hot bath for the girl." 

The maid nodded, "let me get a key for ya, m'lord." 

"I suppose that's the end of house Greyjoy then?" A third soldier spoke. "I understand Balon Greyjoy's last son fought for the Starks." 

"Nah, betrayed him." The second soldier said. "Took Winterfell and murdered the two Stark boys who still resided there. Burnt their bodies and hung them at the gate." 

"Come here, little bird," Sandor whispered, tugging Sansa's hand. She rose and came around the table, dropping onto the bench next to him but still facing the wall. "Hold it together another minute, little bird." He whispered, raising his hand to cup her cheek. "Just until we get upstairs." 

She nodded, blinking her huge blue eyes up at him. Sandor glanced around the inn and noticed several curious eyes on them, including two of the soldiers. 

Sandor leaned in close to her. "People are watching, girl. Do you trust me?" She nodded, and he leaned forward and kissed her hard, wrapping his free hand around her waist and pulling her close into him. 

She gasped a little and then raised a shaky hand to his neck, returning the kiss hesitantly. He growled softly and his fingers tightened on her waist, and started kissing down her neck, glancing behind her to see that most had turned away but a few still watched them. 

"Are they still looking?" Sansa breathed shakily into his ear. 

"Mmm." He grunted softly, kissing down her shoulder now. 

Sansa's fingers dug into his neck and then her hand skated down his chest. She slowed the lower she went, and finally lowered her hand to his breeches, gently resting her hand against his cock. Sandor inhaled sharply and pulled back to look at her face. 

"No, little bird," his eyebrows knitted together slightly. 

"I'm supposed to be a whore… right?" She asked against his ear, then pressed her lips to his temple. "To get us out of here?" 

"Aye," he whispered hoarsely, dropping his face to kiss her neck again, "but you don't have to do that…" he trailed off as she began stroking him softly. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to get hard. Not when the little bird was sad. 

"P-pardon, m'lord?" The barmaid was back, clutching a key. 

Sandor pulled his face from Sansa, who continued to kiss his jaw and neck and rub his manhood, and looked at the maid. He grunted and stood, pulling the girl with him. Her hand stayed at his breeches until he hoisted her up, catching her under the rear with his arm. 

"Which room?" He growled at the maid, snatching the key from her fumbling hands as Sansa put her arm around his neck and continued kissing at the jaw. 

"Last on the left," 

Sandor had marched past her before she finished, taking the stairs two at a time, desperate to get Sansa off of him while he still had the willpower to do so. He fumbled with the key at the lock, growling softly when Sansa nibbled the edge of his ear. 

He finally got the door open and slammed it behind them, then collapsed back against it, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. Sansa stayed close at his ear, also breathing a little harder than normal. 

"I'm sorry, little bird," he said as he slowly lowered her back to her feet, though his hand stayed at her back. 

"I knew it was too much to hope for," she said in her small little voice, her eyes filling with tears again, "that I might get to see my mother and brothers again." 

She looked down at her hands. Sandor couldn't think of anything to say, so he stayed silent, looking down at her. 

"I don't want to think about them, Sandor." She looked up at him. "I can't bear it." 

Sandor raised his hand to her cheek, brushing away a tear as it fell. 

"Let's get drunk." He said firmly. The maid had left 4 skins of wine on a small table. He crossed to it and opened one, handed it to Sansa, and then opened another for himself. "Cheers, girl. Drink." 

***

They drank for hours. Sansa had begun asking him questions again and he humored her this time and answered them. 

"It's not that I can't read," he was saying now, "I'm just not very bloody good at it." 

Sansa was laying on the bed with her knees over the side, and Sandor sat on the floor next to her dangling feet. He'd shed his armor earlier and sat in his tunic and breeches. 

"Who taught you?" Sansa asked, her voice slower than normal from the drink. 

"My mother." Sandor said after a brief silence. 

There was silence for a moment as the word 'mother' seemed to hang in the air between them. 

"Not your maester?" Sansa asked finally. 

"No maester, girl." He laughed. 

Sansa sat up and tried to drink from the wine skin and made a disappointed noise when it was empty. Sandor raised his in offering and she accepted it, drinking deeply. 

"Who tended to your injuries then? If you didn't have a maester?" 

"My mother, usually. But after having half your face melted off, little cuts and scrapes aren't much of a bother." He answered, rising to pluck another wine skin from the table. 

"Littlefinger told me how you got burned." Sansa whispered. 

"Oh did he?" Sandor replied, pulling the cork from the final skin. He'd have to go back downstairs again soon. 

"He told me to never mention it to you, or you'd kill me." 

Sandor turned back to her. 

"But you won't kill me." Sansa slurred, and then took another drink. "I know you won't." 

"Aye," Sandor chuckled. 

"I know why, too." Sansa said, swaying slightly. Sandor's heart jumped in his chest. "Because I'm your little bird." She mumbled in a slightly sing-song voice, and then drank deeply again. "This one's empty too!" She complained. 

"I think you may have had enough, little bird." Sandor shook his with a smirk and sat next to her on the bed. 

"I'm not afraid of you." She stated confidently as she reached for the fresh wine skin. 

"Maybe you should be, girl." He joked, surrendering the wine to her. "I'm just a big dog, afterall." 

"No." Sansa said simply. 

They sat in silence for a moment. 

"Even if you were just a big dog," Sansa said after a moment, and Sandor turned to her. Her eyes seemed a little more focused now as they explored his body. "That's not such a bad thing, is it? Dogs are good and loyal. They protect and defend. They're fierce." Her eyes rose to his. "And they never lie." 

She leaned towards him slowly. 

"Little bird…" Sandor warned her, his own mind swimming hazily from the wine. 

"Why do you call me that?" Sansa asked, her delicate fingers brushing his arm. Sandor mumbled incomprehensibly, taking the wine back. "Tell me!" Sansa urged, linking her fingers around his forearm. 

He looked away from her and took a deep breath. "Because… little birds are innocent… and beautiful." He drank deeply, keeping his eyes forward. 

"You think I'm beautiful?" She asked softly, sounding truly surprised. 

"'Course I do." He muttered. 

"Well I think you are quite handsome as well." She said, back to her proper lady voice. Sandor barked out a laugh. "I do!" Sansa insisted. "Don't laugh at me." 

Sandor simply shook his head with a slight smile and drank again. Sansa stared at him for a moment and then rose from the bed. She took a few steps to stand in front of him, and he looked up at her. Her delicate fingers touched his eyebrow and his eyes slipped closed. She traced down to his cheekbone, across his nose, ran her thumb along his lip, and then cradled his jaw. 

"Don't, little bird," he whispered, opening his eyes to look at her. He stared up into her deep blue eyes, like pools so deep he could've jumped in and drowned. 

"Why not?" She asked. 

"There's a million reasons why not, girl." 

"I can't think of any." She whispered as she leaned forward and kissed him. 

He hesitantly raised one hand to her waist, pulling her a step towards him. She kissed him sweetly for a few moments and then broke away, leaning her forehead against his, panting softly. 

Sandor's mind was racing. Wants and needs, good and evil, go along with her or stop this for her own good. He didn't knew what he should do, but how could he possibly summon the strength to do it? 

"Please, Sandor…" she whispered, "help me forget." 

Sandor tightened his grip on her hip and pushed her back slightly. He looked back up into her eyes, and saw desire flashing behind her eyes. He took another drink from the wine, and then offered the skin to her. Her brows furrowed slightly but she accepted, and Sandor pulled her into him, kissing her neck and collarbone as his fingers began to work the ties on her dress. 

She gasped softly as he got the ties open, and dropped her arms to her sides and he pushed her dress off her shoulders. He looked up into her eyes, and upon seeing her steady gaze and soft smile, pulled her dress slowly down her body. He held her gaze, right up until it pooled around her ankles and she stepped out of it, now clad only in a cotton shift and small clothes. He let his eyes travel down her body, tracing her curves with his hands, and then pulled her back against him by her hips, crashing his mouth back into hers. 

Sansa wrapped her arms securely around his neck, and Sandor lifted her onto his lap so she was straddling him. He rocked her hips against him and they both groaned softly. Sandor ran his hands up her soft, smooth legs, beneath the shift. It pooled around his wrists as his hands rose, and he stopped to brush his thumbs over her hard nipples. She gasped softly at that and rolled her hips again. Sandor secured an arm around her back, and pulled the shift off with the other. She raised her arms immediately so it could be pulled free, and then she reached down for the edge of Sandor's tunic. 

He let her pull the tunic from him, and she pressed her bare chest flush against his, kissing him fiercely again. Sandor squeezed her hips in his hands and started rocking her against him, lifting his own hips to meet hers. Sansa whined into his mouth and blood rushed to Sandor's cock as he pulled her hips down harder into him. 

Sansa clung to his neck, twisting her fingers in his hair as Sandor dropped his face down to her chest, kissing her and nuzzling her, darting his tongue out to lick at her nipples. 

"Sandor!" Sansa gasped, twisting her fingers tighter. 

"Say that again, little bird," he whispered into her chest. 

"Sandor…" Sansa moaned, and he growled. 

He flipped her over so she was on her back on the bed and hovered over her, his weight on his elbows on either side of her head. He kissed her hard again as her hands explored his back, and he reached down to hike one of her legs up over his hip. He kept rolling his hips against her mound, slowly driving himself insane as she moaned softly beneath him. 

"Sansa," he broke the kiss, breathing hard. "Tell me to stop." He whispered. "Tell me to stop." 

She cradled his face again and whispered, "Please don't stop, Sandor," 

He groaned and began to kiss his way down her body, over her breasts and down her flat belly. He knelt on the floor next to the bed, and grabbed her behind the knees to pull her towards him. She gasped softly and then giggled. Sandor hooked his fingers into her smallclothes and looked up into her face again. She nodded, and he slowly pulled them down her legs. 

He pulled her towards him, hooking her knees over his shoulders. He wrapped one arm around the outside of her leg and laid his hand against her belly below the navel as he began kissing her thighs. She shook slightly and lifted her hips. 

"Relax, little bird," he murmured against her thigh. He finally turned his face to her womanhood, drinking up the light of her pretty little pink cunt, glistening inches in front of his face. He just sat there for a moment, then raised his hand and gently ran his finger through her folds. 

"Sandor, please!" Sansa whined, lifting her hips again. 

He chuckled darkly and then leaned forward and tasted her. Sansa gasped and her hips jerked upwards. Sandor buried his face in her, sucking, kissing, licking, and listening to Sansa's gorgeous little moans and whimpers as she rocked her hips against his face. He ran his tongue flat across her little pearl and she let out a long, deep, guttural groan. He was achingly hard, confined in his breeches, but couldn't take his hands off her long enough to reach down and untie them. 

He brought one hand up and gently dipped his thumb into her slit. Not deep enough to break her maidenhead, just enough to stretch her opening as he put all his attention on her nerve bundle. She began moaning louder and rocking into his face harder. His hand on her belly pressed down slightly to try and still her movements. 

Her gasps, whimpers, and moans were like music to him, punctuated by her whispering his name. It was driving him mad in the best possible way. 

"Sandor…" she whined suddenly, her fingers twisting up in the blankets. Her thighs clenched around his head and he felt her constrict on his thumb. 

"That's it, little bird," he whispered against her. "Let go and sing for me while you come." 

Her legs were like a vice around his head and she practically screamed as she came. He continued his attentions as she rode it out, not stopping until the rocking of her hips began to still. He rose to his feet, and sat back on the edge of the bed, breathing hard. 

"Oh Sandor…" Sansa breathed, sitting up and winding her arm through his. She cupped his face and turned him towards her, giving him a long and passionate kiss. She smiled widely at him and leaned her head into his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as slow a burn as I intended, but ah well here we are. Please review!


	5. Maiden

Sansa  
\-----------

Sansa woke to light tapping on the door, which then opened slowly. She clutched the furs to her naked chest and sat up slightly, blinking the sleep from her eyes. 

"Beg pardon, m'lady," the young servant girl said with a clumsy curtsey. "Your lord told me you'd like a hot bath before you join him to break your fast. 

Sansa felt a pang of affection as she nodded. "Yes, please." 

"Make yourself decent, m'lady. I'll have the lads bring up the tub." 

Not 10 minutes later, Sansa was soaking in the hot water, humming happily. The maid had left her soap and towels, but she hadn't used them yet, just basking in the warmth of the bath. She didn't get out until her fingers and toes were wrinkling and the water was starting to cool. 

She dried and dressed with a smile on her face, blushing a little as she recalled the events of the previous night. She'd never felt anything like that before, never imagined that such was possible. When she'd reached for his breeches, he'd caught her hand, kissed her palm, and told her to sleep. She was nervous now, knowing that she wouldn't have wine to soothe her nerves for the first time she touched him, but the thought still made her heart jump. 

She pinned the front of her hair away from her face, leaving the rest to hang damp down her back, and left the room. At the top of the stairs she looked down into the inn and saw Sandor. Her heart jumped again. He hadn't put on his armor before coming downstairs, but his sword was strapped around his waist. Then she noticed as she began to descend that he was speaking with a much smaller man and looked angry. She hesitated, and he glanced up at her with a warning look. 

As she made to turn around and return to their room, the man turned and looked at her. Littlefinger. She took a deep breath and came down the stairs. No point in hiding now that he'd seen her. 

"Lady Sansa," Littlefinger simpered, and she allowed him to kiss her cheek. 

"Lord Baelish," Sansa replied with a polite smile. 

"You have no idea how relieved I am to see you alive and well, my lady," Littlefinger said, holding one of her hands in both of his. "Your disappearance during the Battle of Blackwater was so very concerning to the small council." 

Sansa stiffened at the mention of the council, but managed to reply, "I assure you I am quite safe, Lord Baelish. I can't say how much I appreciate your concern." 

"It thrills me to hear it. Would you consider joining me on my travels? I'm heading to the Eerie, under instruction to court your Aunt Lysa. You would be safe there, and could remain hidden until your Aunt and I can arrange a marriage for you." 

"I appreciate the offer," Sansa began. "But-" 

"Your Aunt would be so glad to see you, I'm sure!" Littlefinger cut her off. "So relieved to see with her own eyes that you are safe." 

"Would you give us a moment, Lord Baelish?" Sansa asked politely. 

"'Us?'" A look of confusion crossed Littlefinger's face, and Sandor stepped forward and placed his hand on Sansa's shoulder. Littlefinger looked shocked. "Oh no Lady Sansa, don't tell me you're travelling with the Hound?" 

"His name is Sandor Clegane." Sansa replied coolly. "A moment, Lord Baelish." 

He bowed and retreated, returning to a table but keeping his eyes on her. Sansa turned her back to him to look at Sandor. 

"Little bird." He said simply, his eyes softening as he looked down at her. 

"Good morning, Sandor." She smiled up at him. "What do we do about Littlefinger?" 

"I could kill him." Sandor suggested with a smirk, and Sansa smacked his arm. 

"Where will we go, Sandor? If we can't return to Winterfell?" Sansa asked. 

"Aye, it had occurred to me I might take you to your Aunt." Sandor said, glancing up from her to look at Littlefinger. 

"But you don't trust him." Sansa finished. 

"No, little bird. I don't want you anywhere that slimy little git." 

They stood in silence for a moment. 

"Where else is there?" Sansa asked softly. "My uncle in the Riverlands, or Jon at the Wall." 

"I better like the idea of the wall," Sandor said. "The farthest we can get you from Kings Landing, and I'd bet good coin you'll be safer with your half brother than an uncle you've likely never met." 

"If Robb's alive, that's where he'll have gone, too." Sansa murmured, looking down. 

Sandor's hand twitched as though he meant to touch her, but thought better of it with Littlefinger watching.

She took a deep breath and then looked back up to Sandor. "Then we tell Littlefinger we're going to Riverrun." 

"Smart girl." Sandor's mouth twitched.

Sansa smiled back, wishing she could lean up and kiss him, but turned and walked to Littlefinger. Littlefinger rose as she approached, and she smiled graciously. 

"I so appreciate your offer, Lord Baelish, but I wanted to visit my uncle and grandfather in Riverrun. We've recently learned of my mothers death, and I'd like to pay my respects before we proceed to the Vale." 

"My lady, I would be honored to-" 

Sansa cut him off this time. "Don't keep my aunt waiting on my account, Lord Baelish. I understand she's an impatient woman. Can I trust that my travel plans are safe with you?" 

"Yes, yes, of course my lady. So I will see you shortly in the Eerie?" Baelish asked, his eyes sparkling in a way that made Sansa want to slap him. 

"Yes, my lord, shouldn't take longer than a moon." Sansa smiled and made to turn. 

"Lady Sansa," Littlefinger caught her wrist. "I can't help but wonder why you're traveling with the- Clegane." He caught himself as her eyes narrowed slightly. "I do believe you would be much more comfortable if I sent some men and a carriage to accompany you." 

"That's more attention than we care to draw, Lord Baelish. Safe travels." She spoke the last two words as forcefully as she could, and turned away. 

"Just remember what I told at the Hand's tourney." Littlefinger said, and Sansa hesitated, then returned to Sandor.

"Let's get you some breakfast, little bird," Sandor placed his hand on her back and guided her back to the table they'd sat at the night before. "You must be famished." 

She glanced up at him and saw a devilish twinkle in his eye, and she blushed, knowing he was remembering the events of the previous night. 

The maid was quick about bringing their breakfast, Sandor washing his down with ale. Sansa was quiet, her head reeling. Her mother and brothers were dead and Arya hadn't been seen in years. She'd started to nurse a little fantasy that if she and Sandor could just make it home, everything would return to normal. 

But this is normal now. Running and hiding. Plotting where to tell people they're going and where they will actually go. And what would they do if Jon had fallen already at the Night's Watch? She'd heard once that half of all Night's Watch recruits don't last the first year. And she wouldn't allow herself to hope that Robb had survived, it was just so unlikely. She'd have to actually go to Riverrun or the Eerie if Jon had died. 

She bit her lip. She couldn't bear to think about the possibility that Jon had died too. That would be too much, to think that she might be the last Stark. 

She reached across the table for Sandor's ale and took a long drink. 

"You'll be drinking more than me by the time our journey ends." Sandor chuckled darkly. 

"What if Jon is dead too?" Sansa asked. 

"Don't think like that, little bird." He responded dismissively. "The watch gets a lot of common people, rapers and thieves and the like. He may be a bastard, but your brother is high born. He'll have learned to fight alongside your brothers and the Greyjoy boy. It's the sad little shits that've never held a sword that die by the hundreds." Sandor reached back for his ale. 

Sansa fell silent. The idea of making her way to the company of rapers and thieves and the like wasn't comforting, but the need to be with whoever was left from her family outweighed that. And as long as Sandor was with her, none of them would touch her. But then it occurred to her. 

"Sandor?" She asked hesitantly. He looked at her. "Are… will you stay with me? Once we get to the wall?" 

He reached across the table and took her hand. 

"I swore you my life, little bird. If you want me by your side," he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, "that's where I'll be."

"Thank you, Sandor. For everything." She whispered. She hesitated for a moment, blushing hard, and added, "especially for last night." She dropped her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. 

"Anytime you need your mind cleared," he chuckled, "you just let me know." 

Sansa took a shaky breath to steady herself, summoned all her courage, and said, "even… right now?" 

She bit her lip and met his eyes. He was looking at her steadily, and she could tell he was trying to decide if she was serious. 

"Aye, little bird," he said after a moment, "even right now."

She chewed on her lip for a moment, then rose to her feet. She held his gaze as she took a couple steps back, and then turned and walked to the stairs. She stopped and looked over her shoulder at the bottom of the stairs, her hand on the rail. Sandor downed the rest of his ale and rose. Sansa grinned and started up the stairs. Sandor caught up with her at the top, and scooped her up by the waist, tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her down the hallway. She giggled involuntarily, clapping her hand to her mouth. 

When the door of their room slammed behind them, Sandor dropped her to her feet and pushed her back against the door. Sansa barely had time to register before he was pulling at her skirts to raise them. She raised her hands, wanting to link them around his neck but she couldn't reach. She settled for one hand against his neck and one on his chest. 

"Sandor…" she whispered. He met her eyes and then lifted her, wrapping one leg around his waist and keeping her pushed against the door. She kissed him eagerly, tangling her hands in his hair. 

His fingers found their way to her small clothes and began to rub her through them. Sansa's head fell back against the door as she moaned. He leaned forward and kissed at her neck as he gently moved her smallclothes aside and started rubbing her hard pearl with his thumb. Sansa whimpered softly, tightening her fingers in his hair. 

It had been only a few minutes when she started to feel heat gathering just below her stomach as it had last night. She lifted her other leg to wrap around his waist as well, clenching them tightly around him as she moaned again. She knew sounds were tumbling from her mouth, but had no idea what they were. She was lost in him completely, nothing else mattered but that he just didn't stop. 

"Sandor, please…" escaped her throat in a strangled groan. 

"Are you going to come for me, little bird?" He whispered against her neck. "Are you going to sing me another song?" 

"I… I think I-" she cut herself off with loud moans as she felt the explosion, just like before. It started in her womanhood and spread throughout her body, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. She felt her hips moving against her will, her legs clenched around his waist, and fingers twisted in his hair. 

The fire wracked her body and began to fade, but the blissful tingling remained. Sansa clung to Sandor, panting hard. His arms had wrapped around her as he pulled her from the wall, one around her back and the other in her hair. 

"How's your mind now, little bird?" He asked, pressing sweet kisses to her neck. 

"Completely clear," she whispered breathlessly. 

Sandor pulled her head back a little by the hand he had in her hair and kissed her hard. She returned the kiss eagerly, her hands cupping his face. He broke the kiss to nip and suck at her collarbone, and she took the opportunity to press a kiss to the scars at his temple. He froze and slowly raised his head as she showered kisses over his scars. His temple, his cheek, his jaw, all the way to the corner of his mouth. 

She felt him inhale as if to speak, and quickly started before he could, "I meant what I said last night," she murmured into his marred skin. "You are very handsome." 

She felt him scoff and shake his head, and she leaned to kiss him hard on the mouth. 

"Don't scoff at me," she whispered between kisses, "don't shake your head and sigh," she trailed her hand down the scarred side of his face, from his temple to his jaw, "all I see is my good, strong, fierce, loyal protector." She looked into his grey eyes, cupping his face in her hands, and sadness was clear in them as he stared back. "And my protector is so incredibly handsome." 

He kissed her hard again, carrying her easily over to the bed and setting her gently upon it as he crawled over her, carefully keeping his weight from pressing into her. 

Sansa clung to his neck, kissing him fiercely, and pushed gently on his shoulder. He followed her touch and allowed her to flip them over. He was now on his back with Sansa straddling him, and she was kissing her way down his jaw, his neck, his chest. Her hands found his breeches, and Sandor caught her hands as she began to pull at the ties. 

"Don't, little bird," Sandor choked out, and Sansa's eyes snapped up to his face. "You don't have to do that." 

"I know," Sansa said simply, slowly pulling at one of the ties. "I want to." 

Sandor groaned, letting his head fall back into the bed as Sansa's hands worked the ties and gently pulled his cock from the confines of his breeches. Sandor was breathing heavily as Sansa looked in amazement at his manhood for a moment, then gently wrapped one of her hands around the base. 

"Sandor…" Sansa whispered, and he grunted in response. "Sandor, I… will you show me what to do?" She asked nervously. 

Sandor raised himself up on his elbows, looking at her curiously. "You don't know what to do?" He asked, almost disbelieving. 

Sansa bit her lip and shook her head, and Sandor's eyes softened as he looked down at her. He grunted softly as he pulled himself into a sitting position, gently laying his hand over hers on his shaft. 

He brought his free hand to cup her cheek and kissed her gently. "If you don't like it, little bird, just stop." He whispered. 

She nodded up at him with her wide, blue, innocent eyes, and he groaned softly. He slowly pulled her hand up to his tip, and then back down to his base. He guided her for a few strokes and then released her hand. 

"Like this?" Sansa whispered, stroking him on her own now. 

"Aye." Sandor grunted, his eyes closing. 

Sansa stroked him in silence for a few moments, then whispered, "What else can I do? What else will please you, Sandor?" 

"Just this will please me, little bird." Sandor panted. 

"Sandor!" Sansa said insistently, and Sandor met her gaze. 

"Alright," he whispered. His hand covered hers again, tightening slightly. Sansa followed his lead with a tightened grip and Sandor grunted a little. 

"What else?" She whispered. Sandor met her gaze steadily for a moment. 

"L- lick here," he stuttered, guiding her face slowly towards his weeping tip. 

She looked up at him for reassurance, then slowly licked over his tip. Sandor groaned involuntarily, his hand gripping the bed post. She was encouraged by his reaction, and continued to lick gently at the tip of his shaft as her hand worked. 

"Take it in your mouth, little bird," he mumbled, and she glanced at him and then lowered her mouth over the tip of his cock, taking in the first couple inches. He placed his hand over hers again and raised it to meet her lips. "Now…" he hesitated, and she looked up at him, nodding a little as best she could, conveying that she wanted to pleasure him. "Now… suck a little with your mouth…" she obeyed, and followed the lead of his hand as he raised and lowered hers against his shaft.

He moaned deeply, his head tilting back, as Sansa sucked and bobbed, her hand following her mouth. 

"Gods, little bird, just like that…" he whispered, and he could feel her enthusiasm for doing something he liked. 

He groaned at her mercy for a few minutes, as she sucked and bobbed like a damned expert, and then she tightened her hand again. 

Sandor groaned loudly, tightening his left hand on the bedpost and raising his right to her cheek as she sucked him. His hips bucked up into her face involuntarily, but she seemed perfectly calm as he looked down into her face. 

"T- take your mouth off," Sandor grunted, but her eyes raised to his and continued her movements. "I'm going to come, little bird," he warned and her eyes closed blissfully as though she didn't hear him. "Back up before-" a guttural moan broke off his words as he came, his hand on her cheek wrapping involuntarily on her hair and pulling her towards him. 

He came hard into her mouth, spilling down her throat as she sucked him enthusiastically. His hips stilled and the hand in her hair loosened, then he fell back into the bed, breathing hard. 

She crawled up his body, and he caught her cheek with his hand again. 

"I'm sorry, little bird, I-" 

She cut him off with a swift kiss, lowering her body to rest flush against his. He returned her kiss, his other hand resting on her waist. 

"Are you alright?" He asked, pushing on her slightly to raise her head. 

"Yes, Sandor," she breathed. "I am very much alright." 

They smiled at each other for a moment, then she lowered her face to his chest, resting against him and breathing deeply. His hands slowly stroked her hair and she smiled as her eyes slipped closed. 

It felt like it had been a mere few minutes before Sandor nudged her from her blissful stupor against his chest. 

"Can you pack up here while I ready the horse?" He asked softly, cradling her cheek, and she nodded happily, planting another kiss upon his lips before he rose from the bed. 

She laid there watching him as he righted his breeches and began strapping on his armor. She rose from the bed and approached him from behind, fastening the last clip of his armor at his side. 

He turned and looked down at her, cupping her cheek gently. He kissed her once more, and then swept from the room without another word. 

She gathered their things, packing them carefully. She hesitated a moment before pulling a purse from her small bag. Lord Varys had brought it to her, just after her father had been captured. She opened it slowly, and peered into it. Her father had only had a few measly coppers on him when he'd been captured. In Kings Landing she'd fantasized about somehow saving up enough to buy passage home. She kept the purse in her hand as she left the room and made her way down the stairs. 

"Ahem." She coughed softly when she reached the bar downstairs. 

The maid jumped and sank into a curtsey upon seeing her. 

"Beg pardon, m'lady!" The woman said. "I believe your lord is just about ready to go." 

"Yes," Sansa said, glancing to the door. "I wondered if you had any wine skins I might purchase?" 

"Aye, m'lady," the maid said. "I have two just here." 

"Wonderful," Sansa murmured, counting through the coins in her hand. "I also wondered… do you have any books?" 

"M'lady?" The maid had a confused look. 

"My… lord… he told me last night that he's not very good at reading, but his mother used to read to him and his brother." Sansa said calmly. "I wonder if you have a book I might purchase, to read to my lord as we travel." 

"I… I believe I do, m'lady." The maid said slowly. "Just a mo'." 

She disappeared into a room behind the bar. Sansa watched Sandor through dirty glass while she waited, as he secured his saddle and reins to the horse. 

"Will this do, m'lady?" The maid asked as she emerged, laying a book upon the bar. 

Sansa lifted it, looking at the title. "An history of the conquering of Westeros by Aemon Targaryen." 

"This will do fine." Sansa smiled at the maid and paid her, packing the wineskins safely into her bag and tucking the book under her arm before she left the inn. 

Happy and carefree as she was, she didn't think to raise her hood before she practically skipped across the yard to Sandor, who barked orders at the stable boys. 

He smiled down at her when she touched his elbow, quickly packing the bags she carried into Stranger's saddlebags. He swept her up into the saddle, and she giggled a little, grinning down at him. 

"Lady Sansa?" An unfamiliar voice called. 

"Seven buggering hells," Sandor grumbled, hand on his sword as he turned to the voice. "Who now?" He demanded. 

"I mean no harm, ser." The woman said carefully as she approached. 

Sansa looked at her. The woman had short blond hair, a timid brunette boy at her elbow, and she wore armor. 

"Who the fuck are you?" Sandor asked threateningly, though he had not yet drawn his sword. 

Sansa laid her hand on his shoulder, and Sandor turned instinctively to her, gently helping her down from the horse. 

"My name is Brienne of Tarth," the woman said as she approached, watching the pair carefully as Sandor stood between Sansa and the stranger. "Lady Sansa, I was your mothers sworn sword." 

Brienne of Tarth tried to look around Sandor to Sansa. 

"Before her death, she entrusted me with the task of finding you and your sister, and bringing you home." The blonde woman said. 

Sansa tried to approach, but Sandor's arm jerked out to catch her, holding her back. He gave her a warning look. 

"Lady Brienne," Sansa said slowly, "describe my mother. Prove that you were in her service." 

"She was fierce." The blonde woman said with a slight smile. "She loved her children more than anything. She was willing to do anything and risk anything to get you and your sister home." 

Sansa placed her hand on Sandor's arm, giving him a reassuring look as she passed him.

"Lady Brienne," Sansa said, "my sister, Arya, has not been seen since the day my father was taken prisoner by the Lannisters." A look of concern crossed Brienne's face. "The very brave Ser Sandor has sworn me his sword," Sansa said, looking over her shoulder at him. She could tell he was itching to proclaim that he was not a knight, but Sansa pressed on. "I am quite safe under his protection, Lady Brienne, but I worry every day for the safety of my sister. If you truly swore your sword to my mother, I would beg you now to find Arya. Find Arya, and bring her safely to Castle Black, where our bastard brother serves in the Night's Watch." 

There was a long pause, which Sandor seemed unable to stand, as he placed a hand protectively on Sansa's shoulder, stepping closer to her back. 

"Are you sure that you are safe under Ser Sandor's protection?" Brienne asked carefully. 

Sansa smiled. "I am safer with him than I have ever been in my life." She assured the blonde woman. 

The blond woman knelt and took Sansa's hand. "Then I swear to you that I will find your sister. I will find the Lady Arya and deliver her safely to Castle Black. I swear it by the old Gods and the new." 

"Don't call her Lady Arya," Sansa advised with a small laugh. "But I thank you sincerely for your efforts, Lady Brienne." 

Brienne stood, surveying Sansa and Sandor carefully for a moment, then she turned to the boy behind her. 

"Come along, Podrick. Let us have breakfast before we begin our search." She said. She strolled confidently past Sansa and Sandor, and the boy behind her bowed to them as he followed. 

"I'm not a bloody knight, girl." Sandor grunted as he lifted her back into the saddle. 

Sansa cupped his cheek as he made to climb up behind her. 

"You are to me." She said simply. 

Sandor grumbled unintelligibly as he hoisted up behind her, but Sansa smiled and leaned into his broad, armored chest as Stranger took off at a trot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think!


	6. Crone

Sansa  
\----------

"So that's it then? We're back in the North?" Sansa bounced excitedly on the saddle. 

"Aye," Sandor said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. 

She sighed happily and leaned back into him, resting her cheek on his armored chest. He lifted his hand and stroked her back. 

"How long now until we get to the wall?" She asked. 

"About a fortnight still," Sandor replied. "Maybe more to avoid the Kingsroad." 

"Will we see Winterfell?" Sansa asked after a pause. 

"No, little bird." Sandor murmured, raising the hand on her back to stroke her hair. "If we go near Winterfell, you might be recognized. I don't know who holds the North or who they're loyal to now that your brother's army has fallen." 

"Then what route will we take?" Sansa asked. 

"We'll cross the Kings Road at the White Knife to pass by the Dreadfort. Once we reach Last Hearth we'll be far enough north to follow the Kings Road the rest of the way to Castle Black." Sandor replied. 

"The Bolton's have the Dreadfort." Sansa said. "The Bolton's are loyal to my family, our bannermen." 

"Will they recognize you?" Sandor asked. 

"I've never met them." Sansa said simply. "But you don't see hair like mine much in the North. Hair this red is a Tully trait." 

"Then we'll go wide around the Dreadfort." Sandor grumbled. 

Sansa frowned. "Why? They are loyal. They are sworn to serve when called upon, we could stay a night there." 

Sandor sighed. "Little bird, your brother was betrayed by one of his bannermen. We don't know which it was, best to avoid them all." 

They rode in silence for a time, stopping to make camp as the sun began to set. Sansa gathered the kindling for the fire while Sandor gathered the wood. 

"Will you show me how to do it?" She asked as Sandor knelt with the flint. 

Sandor considered her for a moment and then motioned her over. He showed her how to strike the stones and make sparks, and then handed them to her. Sandor watched her for a few moments as she struck them, then moved to kneel behind her. He took each of her hands in his and guided her strike, so she could see how it felt. Sparks immediately flew and landed on the kindling, igniting it at once. 

Sansa surveyed the fire for a moment, then grinned up at Sandor. "Tomorrow I'll do it myself." She said confidently.

"Whatever you say, girl." He said with a little smile. 

His hands lingered on hers and she leaned back into his chest, holding his gaze. His eyes were soft now when he looked at her, but still fierce, deep and grey like a storm. She could tell that his walls were falling in spite of himself, and that he was scared of that. But just as he'd promised not to hurt her, she would not hurt him. Her skin was safe with him, and his heart was safe with her. 

As though he could sense her thoughts, he leaned down and caught her lips with his. He wrapped his arms around her waist, still holding her hands. Sansa's heart soared as her eyes slipped shut, losing herself in Sandor's kiss. How foolish she'd been once upon a time, to think that she needed a beautiful young knight in shining armor to whisk her off her feet and carry her into the sunset. She could see now that all she truly needed was this fierce, scarred warrior in dented, scuffed, dirty armor, delivering her safely home. 

He broke the kiss but didn't release her, both panting slightly. 

"Sandor…" she began, and he squeezed her hands. 

"Stay here, little bird," he said as he stood, "stay warm, and I'll hunt dinner." 

She smiled at his back as he disappeared between the trees. She took a deep, shaky breath. What had her thinking this way? How was it that she felt safer in his arms than she ever had before? How was it that she knew deep in her heart that she would be okay as long as they were together? Not as long as he protected her, no. As long as they were together. Why did it just feel so right? 

Sansa rose to her feet and walked to Stranger, patting his muzzle gently before unclipping the saddlebag. 

She pulled their bags from it, slowly preparing their camp for the night. When Sandor returned, two rabbits clutched in his large hand, she sat waiting with the book she'd bought at the inn on her lap. 

"You going to keep reading to me, girl?" He asked with a chuckle as he picked up the spits she had found, and his knife. 

"Of course! We're just getting to the good part," Sansa said, opening the book to the page they'd left off on, which was marked by a scrap of linen. 

"Get on with it then." He smirked as he sat across the fire from her. 

This was how they'd spent their evenings the past fortnight. He would hunt and cook, and she would read to him. They would eat, and then she'd continue to read to him as he wiped the grime from his armor, as he tended to the horse, as he sharpened his blades. And once he'd finished with that, he would come sit behind her, looking over her shoulder, and she would trail her finger along the page as she read so he could follow the words as she spoke them. 

She began to read to him and then paused as he pulled the skin from the first rabbit. 

"Sandor… will you teach me how to do that too?" She asked. 

Sandor rested his elbow on his knee and looked at her curiously. 

"What's got into you, little bird?" He asked. "Starting fires, skinning rabbits… these aren't jobs for a proper little lady." 

"I know…" she said, "but I think I should know how. Don't you? What if you were hurt and couldn't hunt for us? We'd just starve." 

"You want to hunt now too?" He asked incredulously. 

"Why not?" She asked with a smile. 

He surveyed her for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, little bird. Tomorrow I'll show you how to skin a rabbit." 

She smiled, then looked back down to the book and kept reading. 

They ate in silence, Sansa watching him from across the fire. She was staring but he didn't seem to notice. She took another steadying breath and then returned to her rabbit. He finished eating before her and stood, walking behind her to Stranger. She set her plate aside and wiped her fingers on her dress. 

"Are you finished, little bird?" He asked, looking over at her. She met his eyes and nodded. "Come here and help me with this." He said, gesturing to his armor. 

She rose and came to his side, unclipping the buckles along his sides, then crouching to unclip the buckles down his legs. He removed the armor, and then offered his hand. She took it, and he pulled her gently to her feet. He leaned down and kissed her again, and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. 

He guided her back to the fire, pulling her into his lap as he sat so she straddled him. He lifted her skirts out of the way and pulled her hips into him, grinding slowly. 

Sansa moaned softly, rolling her hips against him. She could tell he was already hard, and grinned a little at the idea that he got so aroused without touching her. He ground her hips hard against him, lifting slightly into her. She was panting, kissing him, and moaning hard. He raised his hands to the ties at her dress, slowly pulling at them. 

"Sandor!" Sansa squeaked in objection, looking down at him in surprise. "What are you doing? We're out in the open!" 

"There's no one around, little bird." Sandor chuckled. "Don't want the horse seeing your tits?" 

She blushed, then shrugged the dress down her shoulders a little. Sandor grinned and pulled her shift down, then ducked his head down to her breasts, kissing and sucking at her soft flesh. 

She moaned again, tangling her fingers in his hair. It was mere minutes later when she came, and Sandor clapped his hand over her mouth. 

"Quiet, little bird," he whispered, keeping the rolling motion steady with his other hand on her hip. 

She cried out against his hand, squeezing her fingers into his shoulders. She rode out her climax and then collapsed into him, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. 

"You better learn how to control your volume, little bird," Sandor chuckled, rubbing her back, "if you intend to keep this up once we join your brother at the wall." 

Sansa blushed hard at the idea of Jon hearing her like that. "I can't help it." She mumbled into his neck. 

"I'm not objecting," he said with another chuckle. He lifted her gently and they settled onto the ground to sleep. Her back was pressed into his chest, her cloak bunched under her head like a pillow, and his thrown over them like a blanket. Sandor's arm laid over her waist, and they faced the fire. 

"We won't even be able to sleep like this once we get there." Sansa murmured, pouting slightly. 

"Aye, I don't imagine your brother will like the idea of your arse pressed up against me like this." Sandor lowered his arm to her hips, pressing her rear into him for emphasis.

She giggled a little, then sighed. 

"Don't fret on it, little bird." Sandor whispered into her hair. 

She laid awake for a long time, long after she felt Sandor's breathing slow as he fell asleep. She didn't want to think about sleeping alone in a fortnight, or having to sneak around with Sandor. She didn't want to look at him wishing she could steal a kiss, but checking first if anyone was watching. These thoughts swirled in her head around a different fantasy she'd begun to nurse since that night at the inn. A fantasy that she knew was a little ridiculous, but couldn't keep from thinking about. 

She shook the thoughts from her head, and rolled away from the fire. She hung her arm around his waist and nuzzled into his chest. She felt his arm pull her tighter against him in his sleep and smiled. 

She awoke sprawled across Sandor's chest. One of his hands was slowly stroking her hair, and she hummed happily, tightening her arms around him. 

"Are you awake, little bird?" He asked softly, his hand stilling on the back of her head. She smiled and didn't answer, letting her eyes slip closed again. "Buggering minx." He chuckled, and she pulled away, looking at him with mock indignation. His laugh made her whole body shake, given how she was laid on top of him. "Come on, girl, let's get a move on while the day is young." 

Sansa pouted a little, but slid off him onto the ground. He got to his feet with a grunt, rolling his shoulders to pop his back. 

They travelled several more days without incident. She had successfully lit the fire each night since, but couldn't seem to wrap her head around skinning rabbits. He'd let her try every night, chuckling to himself and offering advice, but she just couldn't do it. 

"Perhaps you should try skinning a squirrel first," he'd suggested with a laugh the night before, and Sansa had looked at him in horror. 

"I don't want to eat a squirrel!" She'd whined, and he'd chuckled, holding his hand out for the rabbit, which she'd passed to him with a pout. 

Now they'd been riding in silence much of the day, Sansa gazing around absentmindedly. Sandor had handed her the reins a while ago, and his hands rested on her hips like he was ready to seize them back in a second if Stranger got spooked. 

Sansa heard a dull rumble and gave the reins a small tug to bring Stranger to a halt. "What's that noise, Sandor?" She asked. 

"Horses," he grunted, taking the reins back, "and a lot of them. Hood up, girl." 

Sansa got her hood in place just as the banners came into view over a hill in front of them. The Flayed Man. 

"That's the Bolton's." She whispered, and Sandor's hand flexed on her hip and then disappeared, and she knew it went to the helm of his sword. 

The horses half surrounded them and a young man with short, curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes rode forward to them. Stranger's hooves pawed at the ground uneasily as the man approached. 

"My word, is that the Lady Sansa Stark?" He asked incredulously. 

"Who's asking?" Sandor grunted at him. 

"Ramsay Bolton," The man called, bringing his horse to a halt, "Lord of the Dreadfort." 

"I thought Roose Bolton was Lord of the Dreadfort." Sansa asked, keeping her face carefully impassive. 

"I knew that was you, Sansa," he said with a smirk, "I can hear the North on your voice and you're as beautiful as everyone says." 

He seemed to wait for a response, but continued when he received none. 

"My Lord father has passed on, my lady, poisoned after his treachery became known." Ramsay told her, a glint in his eye.

"What treachery?" Sansa asked. 

"Why, he betrayed the King in the North! Couldn't very well let him live, wouldn't you agree?" He smirked at her. 

"Where is it you travel to, my lord?" Sansa asked, skirting the question. 

"I've made an alliance with your brother at Castle Black," he said, "to retake Winterfell from the Greyjoys in his name." Ramsay spurred his horse closer to them, until he was almost close enough to reach out and touch her. "I daresay, if I'd realized his sister lived, I may have bargained your hand into our agreement." 

Sansa cringed slightly and heard Sandor growl. 

"Never fear!" Ramsay exclaimed with a clap of his hands. "I'm sure we can have that discussion soon, when Winterfell has been retaken. Your brother will want to show his gratitude and bind our alliance. Father did always say the best partnerships are sealed with a marriage." 

"I wish you luck on your journey." Sansa replied coolly, praying her disgust didn't show on her face. 

"I sincerely thank you, sweet lady. I pray we see each other again shortly." He offered his hand. She hesitated and then extended her own. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and grinned. "Until we meet again." 

He spurred his horse on and the procession followed him, men peering at her curiously as they passed. As the last of them began to shrink with the distance, Sansa turned her head to look at Sandor. His face was stony and lips pressed into a thin line as he watched the horses ride away. 

"Sandor?" She whispered, and his face hardened further still. 

"Turn side face, my lady," he said, offering his hand without looking at her. She accepted and swung one of her legs around, "we ride hard for now." 

She wrapped her arms around his waist as Stranger began to trot, and the gallop. Sandor's free hand rested on her legs, his other arm behind her holding the reins. Sansa's mind raced. She didn't think to ask which brother Ramsay had made an alliance with. 

They rode well into the night. Sansa didn't raise questions, knowing that Sandor's mind was likely reeling as much as hers. She didn't have to ask to know that Sandor did not trust this Ramsay Bolton one bit, and she didn't either. She couldn't place what it was about him, but he made her skin crawl. 

Then it clicked into place. It was the way he spoke about marrying her, as if the only thing about her that mattered was her name and title. As if her hand was simply a tool, or a resource, to be bought, bargained, and paid for. It made her stomach twist uncomfortably, and her arms tightened around Sandor's waist. 

"Sandor?" She finally said, looking up at him. 

His eyes snapped down to hers briefly, to show he was listening, before raising them back to see where they were going. 

"It will be safer to rest under cover of darkness," she said carefully, "and Stranger needs to rest after riding like this all day." 

Sandor looked down at her again, eyes soft this time. 

"Aye, my lady." He agreed, and steered Stranger between the trees. 

Sansa didn't comment on him calling her 'my lady' twice now, but it made her nervous. He was putting distance back between them, she felt, and it made her heart ache. 

It wasn't much longer before Sandor brought the horse to a stop and dismounted. He helped her down as always, but released her waist quickly. 

"I'll gather-" she started.

"No." Sandor quickly cut her off, and she fell silent. He pressed a dagger into her hands. "Stay close by the horse. If anyone comes, you get on and ride north. Due north, girl. Don't light the fire until I return." He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and kissed her forehead, then set off into the darkness. 

Sansa shivered, clutching the dagger in her shaking hands. She wanted to believe that Sandor was being paranoid, but couldn't deny that his suspicion was making her quite nervous. After a few moments, she began to gather wood and kindling. It was a slower process than normal, since she clutched the dagger in one hand, and once she'd whirled around with a gasp upon hearing a branch break, brandishing the dagger forward, but it was only Stranger laying down. Her heart thudded in her ears, and she approached the beast, lowering herself to the ground next to him. She patted his muzzle gently, eyes scanning the darkness for movement. 

It felt like it had been much longer than normal when Sandor finally returned, and Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. He saw her piles of kindling and wood, and shook his head with a dark chuckle. 

"Still haven't learned to follow instructions, girl." He commented. 

He knelt and arranged the wood, starting the fire quickly. She rose on shaky feet and produced the two wineskins she'd purchased at the inn. She didn't know what she'd been saving them for until tonight. She walked around the fire and handed him one. He accepted it with a confused look, and she smiled a little, patting his shoulder as she returned to where she'd sat with Stranger.

She remained silent as he skinned the rabbits and began to cook, trying to summon her courage for the question she knew now she must ask as she began to drink. Her heart continued to pound in her chest as she watched him, and she barely registered when he offered her food. She took it quickly, whispering her thanks, but she had no appetite, nervous as she was. 

She noticed he didn't remove his armor when he finished eating, though he quickly set about sharpening his blades. She watched him but averted her eyes every time he caught her, staring into the fire. 

She was so stupid. Stupid little girl with stupid little dreams. She could practically feel the words caught in her throat, begging to be released, begging her for the strength to just speak them. She was never going to learn, was she? She was just as daft, naive, empty headed as everyone thought her to be. She didn't want to look foolish in front of Sandor. She didn't know if she could bear the sting of his rejection, and surely she would feel it if she opened her stupid little mouth. 

"Sansa…" his voice finally broke the silence and she jumped. She met his gaze and quickly looked back into the fire. His face was stony and impossible to read, which did absolutely nothing for her nerves. "Sansa, what is it?" He asked calmly. 

She shook her head dismissively, attempting a reassuring smile, though she didn't meet his gaze. 

"Bugger that." He grunted and threw his sword to the ground. She flinched. "You're pale as death, you can't look at me, you didn't touch your food. What is it, girl? Tell me true." 

Sansa breathed deeply to try to calm her nerves, closing her eyes and steeling herself. But no courage bubbled to the surface, no bravery made itself known. She was still just a scared little girl. 

"Damn it, Sansa, tell me!" He spoke more forcefully now, and she opened her eyes to meet his gaze. 

She set her resolve and raised her chin slightly, attempting to mirror the way her mother had carried herself, though she didn't feel her mother's courage.

"Sandor…" she began, and cleared her throat when she heard how shaky her voice was. She took another long drink from her wineskin. "Sandor," she started again, "you'll protect me, no matter what… right?" She met his eyes. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, his one eyebrow furrowing as he studied her. 

"Aye," he said finally. 

"No… no matter what that means? Whatever it takes?" 

"Aye," he said again, looking outright concerned now. "Sansa-" 

"I've realized," she cut him off, "that all I am is a pawn." She rose to her feet without thinking and began to pace. "I'm just a name, just a title, just a piece in their little games." She stopped directly across from him and met his worried eyes. "And I don't want to play." 

"Little bird-" 

"First Littlefinger," she cut him off again, knowing in her heart that if he stopped her, she wouldn't finish, "and then this Bolton pig," she continued to pace, "all I am to them is a potential marriage. All I am to them is an advantageous match. I'm not a person to them, I'm a tool, a resource." She stopped again, staring at her feet. 

She took several deep breaths and then stooped for her wineskin, drinking deeply. Sandor didn't try to speak this time. He seemed to have finally resigned himself to letting her say whatever it was she needed to say. 

"But to you," she whispered as she pressed the cork back into place on the wineskin, "I'm a little bird." Silence hung heavy between them, and she mustered all her courage to look at him. His elbows rested on his knees, his fingers linked together in front of him as he watched her steadily, face impassive as ever. "To you," she continued, speaking slower now, "I'm just a girl you'd give your life to protect." 

They stared at each other for a long minute, Sansa's fingers trembling, him calm as ever. She was breathing hard, head reeling, internally kicking herself as she realized there was no going back now. 

"Aye." He said again, and that simple word gave her strength. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. 

"If I get married," she began, slowly approaching him around the fire, "I'm nothing to them. I'm out of their reach. No longer a move to be made, or a bargain to broker." She reached him and sank to her knees before him, grasping one of his hands in both of hers. "It's the only thing to be done," she whispered, "the only way to truly keep me safe." She dipped her head and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then met his eyes again. 

"Speak plainly, little bird," he grumbled to her. His words, his tone, his eyes gave away nothing as she stared up at him. 

Her heart fluttered in her chest, but she refused to let herself break his gaze. This was it. This was the moment. Her breath caught in her throat. 

Finally, she managed to whisper, "Marry me, Sandor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure this is the longest chapter so far, and I started it trying to figure out how to get from where I was to where this ended. Phew. 
> 
> The second half of this chapter was my original idea for this fic. Everything I've written was with the goal to arrive here. This poor little chapter six is my labor of love, so please please please comment and let me know what you think! I will love you long time!


	7. Stranger

Sandor  
\-------------

Sandor stared down at her. Her big blue eyes so hopeful yet so scared. His large, scarred hand clasped in both of hers, small, delicate, and soft.

He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. It didn't make sense. He'd turned it over in his mind, like it was a foreign object he didn't understand the use for, and still not an inkling of understanding. 

"Marry me, Sandor." She said again, squeezing his hand. 

He began to laugh. He saw the hurt flash across her face as she snatched her hands away, and he reached for her, catching her elbow as she made to stand. 

"It's not funny." She whispered angrily. 

"Little bird," he choked out through laughs, "it's not possible." 

She tried to turn away from him as he continued to laugh, but he still held her elbow. She settled for standing as far from him as she could without breaking his grip, staring pointedly in the opposite direction. 

"I'm the second son of a small house. I've no lands, no title, no gold. It would be ludacris." He tried to say it gently, but he was still chuckling a little. "You're Sansa Stark of Winterfell." 

"What of it?" She asked between clenched teeth, still not looking at him. 

"You'd make yourself a laughing stock, girl." He said, tugging her back towards him. She resisted, but he overpowered her easily, pulling her back in front of him and laying his hands on her hips. "I'll protect you, no matter what. Getting… a marriage isn't necessary to keep you safe." 

She met his gaze finally. "I'm already a laughing stock." She whispered. "The traitor's daughter, and all that. Let them laugh." 

"You don't understand what you're asking," Sandor said, beginning to get frustrated now. "Getting married means fuck all if the damn thing isn't consummated." 

She raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. 

"Oh don't look at me like that, girl. Think about what you're saying. Think about what you'd lose. What would your King in the North brother say if you did this?" Sandor was scrambling. 

"Robb is dead." She said simply. "My mother and father are dead. Brandon and Rickon are dead. Arya's probably dead. Jon is the last family I have, and he's a bastard. He couldn't arrange a marriage for me if he wanted to." 

"Your Aunt Lysa," Sandor said quickly, "or the Blackfish." 

"I've never met either of them." Sansa replied with a small smile. "I'll never trust them as much as I trust you." 

She raised her fingers to stroke the scarred side of his face, and his eyes slipped shut. The girl had a bloody answer for everything, and he couldn't think of anything to snap her out of this foolish idea. 

"Fine." She whispered, and Sandor's eyes shot open to look at her. "Don't do it to protect me, then. I know you could protect me either way." She was silent for a long moment, holding his gaze. "Do it because you love me." 

Sandor stared at her dumbly, mouth agape. She smiled triumphantly at his silence, and he knew that she knew that she had him. 

"What makes you think that I…" he trailed off, unable to say the words. 

"You saved me from King's Landing," she murmured, dropping back to her knees in front of him. "You knew you'd be executed if you were caught with me, and you did it anyways. You've killed for me. You'd die for me. You don't believe in oaths, but you swore one anyways because you knew to me it would mean something. You're gentle with me, and you're kind. I can see in your eyes that you want me safe and happy. That's love, Sandor." 

He opened his mouth and closed it again several times, blinking down at her. He couldn't pretend that she was wrong, of course, but every fiber of his being screamed not to do this to her. She deserved so much better. 

"I can't, Sansa." He whispered, pulling her hand from his face and kissing her palm. "It doesn't matter what I want, or what I feel. I can't do that to you. I won't." He pressed her hands away from him. 

"And what of what I feel?" Sansa asked calmly, and Sandor met her gaze with a sharp look.

"Don't start that," he chuckled darkly. 

"It's started." She whispered. She nudged closer to him, reaching both of her delicate little hands to cup his face. "You are my strength. You make me feel safe. You are everything that I will ever need." She brushed her thumbs along his cheeks, and then leaned in close to his good ear. "And I love you, too." 

Sandor groaned softly and seized her waist, pulling her tight against him and crashing their lips together. 

"Stop this madness, Sansa," he murmured into her skin as he kissed down her jaw, then her throat. "Stop this before I lose control. Please." 

"I love you, Sandor," she whispered again, her fingers twisting in his hair as he ravaged her. "Marry me. Please. Please Sandor, I love you." 

He groaned loudly, half arousal and half frustration. He twisted his fingers hard into the hair at the nape of her neck and jerked her face away from his. He studied her hard for a moment. 

"You'll change your mind," he whispered breathlessly, "you'll regret this. You'll look back on this night and regret that you ever opened your pretty little mouth." 

"Never." She whispered simply, looking lovingly down upon him, even as he had her neck pulled painfully back by her hair. "I will never regret devoting myself to someone so loyal." 

Sandor cursed before releasing her hair, pulling her hard back against him. His fingers pulled desperately at the ties of her dress, and this time she didn't stop him. He pushed the dress roughly down her arms, freeing her hands, and letting the dress and shift pool around her waist. She pressed her soft little body hard against his armor clad chest, and he wrapped his arms securely around her back.

They exchanged hard kisses for a few minutes before he stood, pulling her with him, and pushed her clothes down her legs. He sat again and pulled her naked figure back onto his body, pulling her hard against his armor. 

"Please stop this," he groaned into her chest, his fingers tightening on her rear. "Please, Sansa." 

"Relax, Sandor," she whispered, and then moaned softly at his touch. "I want you. I love you. All you have to do is love me back." 

Sandor buried his face between her breasts, teeth gritted, and held her against him. He panted into her bosom, and she wrapped her arms gently around his head, holding him there, and pressed a kiss into the top of his head. 

"Sansa…" he rasped, breaking away enough to look up into her face. He knew she could see the pain, fear, and shame, as he desperately stared at her. "Promise me… promise that if you second guess this… if you doubt this… if you get scared… just tell me, little bird. Don't do this for obligation. Promise me." 

She stared down at him for a painfully long moment. 

"I promise." She finally whispered, and Sandor groaned audibly, burying his face back into her skin, ravishing every inch he could touch. 

One of his hands dropped between her legs, his index finger skating through her hot, wet, folds. She moaned hard, rolling her hips into his hand. 

He seized her hip with his free hand, forcing her to still, as he began to stroke and circle her clit with his fingers. 

"Please, Sandor…" she whimpered, clinging to his shoulders and attempting to roll her hips into him. 

"That's it, girl," Sandor whispered into her clavicle, pressing soft kisses around her jutting collarbone. "Sing to me." 

Moans and whimpers tumbled from her lips as she tried to grind against him, but he held her fast, keeping her body carefully controlled. He watched her hungrily, from her closed eyes to her open mouth, her heaving breasts to his hand between her legs. He could've watched her like this forever and died a happy man.

"Say it again, Sansa," he whispered, staring into her perfect face. 

"Please…" she whispered again, and Sandor shook his head. 

"Not that," he murmured, "you know what I want to hear." 

She met his gaze through hazy eyes. 

"I love you." She whispered breathlessly, and he loosened his grip on her hip, letting her buck wildly against him and find her release. 

She practically screamed into his neck as her body spasmed with her climax, and he kept his fingers moving to let her ride it out, his other arm wrapping securely around her waist. 

"Was that a yes?" she whispered as she collapsed against him, her whole body trembling. 

Sandor stood with a growl, easily pulling her body with him as she clung to his neck and shoulders. He met her gaze. 

"Don't you know it's the man that's supposed to get down on his knees?" He asked her with a small chuckle. 

She looked confused, and he slowly pried her limbs from him and all but tossed her to the ground. She looked up at him slightly fearfully, as she gathered her limbs around her naked form. Sandor took a step forward, and then sank to his knees in front of her. 

"Sansa," he whispered, pulling one of her hands away from her breast to grasp it in both of his. "You are so beautiful. And I… I love you." Her other hand raised shakily to her mouth. "Join me beneath a Weirwood tree, and bond our lives forever. Marry me, Sansa Stark." 

Her eyes filled with tears and she sobbed, then flung herself forward to wrap her arms back around his neck. 

"Yes." She whispered, pressing a kiss to his scarred temple. "Yes, yes, yes, yes," every word punctuated by a kiss to his married skin, and he smiled in spite of himself, wrapping her back into his arms and holding her tight against his body. 

He disentangled himself again a moment later, quickly unbuckling his armor. Sansa sat up to help him, and Sandor's armor dropped to his side, followed quickly by his tunic. 

He leaned forward to catch her mouth with his, and pressed her back into the hard, cold ground as he hovered above her. She whimpered and moaned, and Sandor was lost in her, until he felt her soft little hand grasp his cock, guiding him towards her hot womanhood. Her ankles crossed behind the small of his back, wordlessly pulling him towards her. 

"No," he said suddenly, his hand seizing her wrist. "Stop this." 

He pried himself away from her, breathing hard. She lay beneath him, panting, her legs still wrapped loosely around his hips as he held tight to her wrist. A look of hurt flashed across her face again and he could tell that she wanted to curl into herself with humiliation. He held her fast, her wrist in one hand, and one of her knees in the other as he tried to catch his breath. 

She squirmed uncomfortably beneath him, and he lifted her into his arms, carefully snaking his arms behind her legs to pull her knees together, and cradling her against his chest. 

"You don't want me?" He whisper was barely audible, and he could practically feel the humiliation burning on her face. 

"Far from it, little bird," he tried to sound reassuring, but Gods know if that came across. "I want you, badly. But I won't make this idea irreversible one second before I have to." 

She hummed a disapproving noise and wiggled, and Sandor tightened his grip around her. 

"I will give you every second I can to change your mind," he murmured into her neck. "I won't take the option away from you before I absolutely have to." 

"So you don't want me." She said dejectedly. "You'd only do this from obligation." 

"No! No, no, no, no, no." Sandor murmured into her hair, running his hands up and down her arms. "You have no idea how badly I want to hold you down and have my wicked way with you," she shivered at his words, whispered against her skin. "But I will give you every second possible to realize that you want nothing to do with this big, ugly dog." 

She twisted in his arms to grasp his face firmly between her hands. 

"I won't change my mind." She said forcefully, meeting his gaze with steady eyes. 

"For my sake, I hope you don't," Sandor whispered, pushing stray hairs from her face, "for your sake, I hope you do." 

She kissed him hard, but try as she might, he wouldn't slacken his grip enough for her to wrap her legs around him again. She had settled eventually against his chest, but when she started squirming again, he'd pinned her to the ground and buried his face between her legs again. She arched and yelled, twisting her fingers in his hair and her own, but she collapsed when he brought her to her peak, and didn't fight him again as they faded into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter took forever, but here it is! Please comment and let me know what you think!!


	8. I Am Hers

Sansa   
\-----------

Sansa sat quietly in the back of the dark inn. She was picking at her dinner and trying to read, but her stomach was fluttering nervously. Sandor had brought her there earlier, and set off in search of someone to perform the marriage. He had insisted on waiting a week, "to give you time to come to your fucking senses, girl," and they had bickered since about whether to put it off until they reached Castle Black. Sansa had insisted on doing it before they reached the wall, and Sandor finally gave in that afternoon. 

She was beginning to get nervous, though. It felt like he'd been gone for hours, and there was a nagging thought in the back of her head that he may have panicked and made a break for it. Every time that thought pushed its way into her head, she tried to drown it with another sip of wine. 

She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she saw his huge frame duck through the door of the inn. She averted her eyes and focused back on her dinner, suddenly ravenous, as he stopped to speak to the innkeeper. 

A few moments later, he sank into the chair opposite her with a grunt. He picked up her goblet and drained it, then signaled the barmaid for a refill. 

"Well?" Sansa said expectantly when she couldn't take it another second. 

"I couldn't find anyone who keeps to the old Gods who was willing to perform the ceremony without a member of the bride's family to give her away." He said. 

Sansa's shoulders slumped. "So that's it then?" 

"I don't give up that easily, little bird." He said with a small chuckle. "I found a septum who will perform a marriage by the new Gods, under a Weirwood tree." 

"That will be perfect." Sansa said with a smile, reaching across the table to take his hand. 

"Are you sure?" He asked. "We can keep looking." 

"No." She squeezed his hand. "As long as we stand beneath a Weirwood tree, the old Gods will be there." 

He squeezed her hand back, and then the barmaid appeared at his side with his dinner. He murmured thanks, and then the maid turned to Sansa. 

"Are you ready for your bath, m'lady?" She asked. 

Sansa looked at Sandor and saw his eyes twinkling a little. She grinned and squeezed his hand again. 

"Yes, thank you." Sansa rose and followed the maid up the stairs to a room. 

The steaming tub was ready and waiting. The maid left her with towels and soap, and then returned some time later with a soft knock. 

"Your lord told me to assist you, m'lady." The maid said, taking a seat behind the tub and beginning to comb her hair. 

Sansa hummed softly and let her eyes slip shut. 

"What's the occasion?" The maid asked conversationally. 

Sansa hesitated, then decided to tell the truth. "We're getting married." She said with a smile. 

The maid hesitated as well. "To that man?" She asked, slightly incredulous. "That one who sat with you downstairs?" 

"Yes," Sansa chuckled, "he had a similar reaction." 

The comb continued through her hair, but the maid was silent, and Sansa could practically hear the cogs turning in her head. 

"What a happy occasion," she said finally, and Sansa chuckled. 

"What's your name?" Sansa asked. 

"Jeyne." The girl responded. "Yours?" 

Sansa wanted to kick herself. She hadn't thought what name to give her. 

"You're Sansa Stark, ain't you?" Jeyne asked after a moment, and Sansa whipped around in alarm. "Hush, lady, your secret is safe with me." Sansa relaxed a little, and Jeyne resumed her combing. "I'd know that Tully hair anywhere. Me mum was handmaid to your lady mother when she traveled north to marry Lord Stark." 

"I'd love to meet her." Sansa said without thinking. "Someone who knew my mother when she was young." 

"Unfortunately mine is dead too, m'lady." Jeyne said, a hint of sadness in her voice. 

"I'm so sorry." Sansa said, looking over her shoulder again at Jeyne. 

She smiled slightly and squeezed Sansa's shoulder. 

"So how did you meet your husband-to-be?" Jeyne asked. Sansa snorted and burst into hysterical giggles. "M'lady?" She sounded confused. 

Sansa clapped both hands over her mouth to quiet her laughter. 

"He was my intended's sworn shield." Sansa wheezed. 

"Seven hells!" Jeyne swore with a laugh. 

The girls laughed together for a moment, then Jeyne helped Sansa from the tub. Sansa put on her smallclothes and shift, and searched her bag for her blue dress. 

"What's the matter?" Jeyne asked at Sansa's noise of frustration. 

"I can't find my blue dress…" she murmured, pulling her clothes from the bag. 

"Your lord brought this for you," Jeyne said, and Sansa whipped around. 

Jeyne was untying a yellow ribbon around a white linen bundle. Sansa stepped closer curiously, and gasped when Jeyne unrolled a black dress. 

"Oh Sansa!" Jeyne said, looking at the dress in admiration. 

The dress was black with simple lines, with flowers and birds in yellow and silver thread embroidered around the neckline, sleeves, and hem. Sansa held the bedpost for stability as she looked at the dress. 

"It's beautiful." Sansa whispered, stepped closer and ran her fingers down one sleeve. 

"That man must truly fancy you," Jeyne said with a giggle, "buying you something this fancy for your wedding." 

Sansa fingered the embroidery on the edges of the sleeve in fascination. 

"We've been traveling for weeks." Sansa whispered. "How did he…?" 

Jeyne snorted. "You'll find that men have a way of getting things done for women they love, sweet lady." Jeyne smoothed the dress down on the bed. "Now let's see what else we have here…" 

Sansa and Jeyne unpacked the rest of the roll, and found silk small clothes and a chemise, a necklace with a large, black gem, and a pair of black shoes. 

Sansa was fighting tears as she discarded her linen undergarments and replaced them with the silk. Jeyne put a little bit of makeup on her, Sansa urging her not to use too much, and then Jeyne helped her into the dress. 

"I reckon your lord will lose his patience with these ribbons in his haste when you return tonight." Jeyne chuckled as she tightened the corset back of the dress. 

"Return?" Sansa asked with a furrowed brow. 

"Aye, he asked for two rooms to get ready, and then one for the night." Jeyne said. 

Sansa turned.

"Two rooms to get ready?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. 

"Your lord is next door taking a bath right now." Jeyne said with a smile. 

Sansa blushed deeply and turned around again. Jeyne expertly tightened and tied the corset, tucking the ribbons into the back of the dress. Sansa's heart was pounding, and she jumped when there was a knock on the door. 

"Little bird?" Sandor's voice rumbled through the oak. 

"That's him!" Sansa hissed. 

"Here, behind the screen." Jeyne rushed Sansa to the back of the room and pulled a screen out to shield her from view. "'Little bird?'" She asked quietly, and Sansa swatted at her arm. 

Jeyne giggled and went to the door. 

"She's not quite ready, m'lord." Sansa heard Jeyne say. 

"Where is she?" Sandor asked. 

"Behind the screen. It's not proper for- m'lord!" Jeyne protested as Sandor crossed the room. 

"Sansa?" He murmured when he reached the other side of the screen. 

"I'm here." She said, pressing a hand against the screen. 

"The Septon is here, little bird," he said quietly, laying his hand on hers over the screen. "Are you almost ready?" 

"Yes." Sansa whispered, her heart jumping. "Where is the Weirwood?" 

"There's one about a quarter mile from here." Jeyne interjected. "Straight East." 

Sandor grunted. "I'll wait for you downstairs." His hand disappeared. 

"M'lord," Jeyne said slowly. "Why don't you have one of the lads take you and the Septon to the Weirwood? I'll take the lass there myself as soon as she's ready." 

There was silence for a moment. 

"She's a friend, Sandor." Sansa said, praying that Sandor would allow this. 

"Fine." He said eventually, and Sansa breathed a sigh of relief as she heard Sandor leave. 

Jeyne folded the screen back away. "He is quite handsome," Jeyne said slowly, "the unburnt side of his face. And it's quite clear he cares for you very much." 

Sansa smiled, heat creeping up her cheeks again. 

She put on the shoes, and Jeyne fastened the chain around her neck. 

"Isn't this dress a bit low cut?" Sansa asked, shifting a little. 

"It's perfect." Jeyne said, moving the glittering stone slightly so it rested between her breasts. 

Jeyne carefully parted Sansa's hair off center, and braided the hair on the smaller side back from her temple, leaving the other side to hang free in loose curls. 

Jeyne finally turned her to a mirror, and Sansa's hand flew to her mouth. 

"You're a sight to behold, lady Sansa." Jeyne whispered. 

The dress fit her perfectly, accentuating the pinch of her waist and flare of her hips. The black was striking against her pale skin, the embroidery tasteful enough that it didn't pull focus. Jeyne had painted her lips a dark red that complemented her hair perfectly, and there was a darker color carefully lining her eyes. 

Sansa's hands wordlessly searched for Jeyne's and squeezed them tightly. 

"Thank you." Sansa managed to choke out. 

"Don't cry now!" Jeyne said, turning Sansa back to face her. "And try not to tuck your hair back on this side, let it hang here. It's very seductive." Jeyne smiled and Sansa giggled. "Now where is your cloak?" 

Sansa picked up her brown traveling cloak. 

"No, no, that won't do. Wait here." Jeyne hurried from the room and returned a few minutes later. "I'll need this back," Jeyne warned as she wrapped a black cloak around her shoulders. 

They carefully arranged the cloak so the dress underneath wasn't visible, and Jeyne pulled the hood up. 

"Perfect. This way he won't see you as we approach." Jeyne said and Sansa beamed at her. "Are you ready?" She asked excitedly, squeezing Sansa's arms. 

"Yes." Sansa said, taking a steadying breath.

"Come on, then." 

Jeyne led her down the stairs and outside, stopping once to adjust the cloak, and they proceeded to the Weirwood. Sansa's heart pounded in her ears and she was breathing shakily. Her breath hitched when she made out Sandor's form, standing in front of the line of trees that led to the Weirwood. Jeyne squeezed her arms. 

Sansa lowered her head automatically as they drew nearer, and they stopped directly in front of Sandor. She took a deep breath and raised her face to look at him, lowering the hood at the same time. 

She saw Sandor's eyes soften and she smiled. She unfastened the cloak, and Jeyne pulled it from her shoulders. Sandor's eyes raked down her body, and then he met her eyes again. 

Neither of them noticed Jeyne's clumsy courtesy before she hurried away. 

Sansa looked over Sandor and noticed that he had replaced his normal hard steel armor with simple, black leather. She sighed a little, her hands reaching out to touch his chest. 

He hummed softly, and produced a single, yellow rose from seemingly nowhere, and tucked it behind her ear. 

"Do you like the dress?" He asked softly, his hand resting gently against her neck. 

She beamed and nodded. "I love it. It's beautiful. Thank you." 

"You're beautiful." He replied simply, moving his hand from her neck and taking her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

She smiled up at him as her eyes filled with tears. 

"None of that today, my little bird." He whispered, cupping her face with both hands and brushing his thumbs over her cheeks. "Are you ready?" He asked. 

"Yes." Sansa nodded, blinking the tears from her eyes. 

He dropped his hands and offered her his arm. She smiled as she took it, linking her fingers together on his arm, as he led her down the path to the Weirwood. 

A drunk looking Septon stood at the base of the tree. He blinked at them several times as they approached, as though trying to bring them into focus. Sandor raised his free hand to cover hers as they walked, looking tenderly down at her. She smiled up at him. 

They stopped in front of the Septon, who continued blinking. 

"Please state your names." The Septon said finally. 

"Sandor, of house Clegane." 

"Sansa, of house Stark." 

The Septon blinked some more, and then grumbled incoherently. 

"Sandor, you may now cloak the bride and bring-" he hiccuped, "bring her under your protection." 

Sansa released his arm as Sandor raised his hands to unclip his cloak. He swept it around her shoulders, and she noticed that this cloak looked new as well. Smooth black leather on the outside, and fluffy black fur on the inside. She was instantly warm as he settled the cloak on her, his hands lingering for a moment as he smiled down at her. 

They clasped hands, threading their fingers together as they turned back to face the Septon. 

Sansa's heart was pounding and her breath quickened, unable to focus on the Septon's prayer as he wrapped their hands and wrists in a long ribbon. 

"Wait." Sandor said suddenly. 

The Septon fell silent and Sansa snapped her head around to look at him, eyes wide. Sandor dropped to one knee before her, squeezing their entwined hands. 

"Sansa, little bird…" he rasped, his face unreadable. "You don't have to do this. I'll keep you safe, no matter what, you don't have to do this." 

"I know, Sandor." She knelt in front of him and raised her free hand to cup his scarred cheek. "I know I don't have to do this, I want to. I want you." His eyes slipped closed as his free hand found her waist. She leaned her forehead against his. "Protect me, my love." She whispered. 

His eyes opened and he met her gaze. He nodded slowly and they rose to their feet, their free hands meeting and threading together as well. 

"Highly irregular." The drunk Septon mumbled to no one in particular, then he cleared his throat. "Now look upon each other, and say the words." 

Sansa's hands squeezed his, and she smiled up at him reassuringly. 

"Father, smith, warrior. Mother, maiden, crone. Stranger." They said together. 

"I am hers," 

"I am his," 

"And she is mine," 

"And he is mine," 

"From this day, until the end of my days." 

They didn't wait for the Septon's words before they stepped forward and kissed. His words were ignored as they wrapped up in each other, slowly, desperately, kissing and sealing their bond. 

The Septon shook his head and left them, but neither of them noticed, wrapt in each other as they were. 

Sandor shook the ribbon free of their hands, and wrapped both his arms around her waist, lifting her and spinning around. She continued to press kisses to his face, jaw, and neck, finally breaking contact to giggle and tighten her arms around his neck. He stopped spinning but didn't place her back on her feet, and they kissed again. 

He sank to his knees, and she followed after touching the ground. There was no telling how long they knelt there in front of the Weirwood tree, holding each other and kissing. 

All Sansa knew was that she wished it would never end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much fun to write! Hope you enjoyed this lol bit of fluff. Please feed me with comments!


	9. And She Is Mine

Sandor   
\-----------

He couldn't have said how long they'd stay at the Weirwood. He cradled Sansa against his chest, her cheek resting on the leather, and her arms threaded around his waist. He had one hand on her back between her shoulders, the other in her hair. He swayed her gently from side to side. 

Sandor was wrestling with himself. On one hand, he wanted to be ecstatic that Sansa had gone through with this. On the other, he knew deep in his heart that she'd be better off if he'd refused her. He should've insisted on waiting until they reached Castle Black, he thought bitterly. Surely her brother would have been able to talk her out of this madness. 

As though Sansa could sense his thoughts, she pulled away from him a little and smiled up at him. 

"Husband." She whispered. 

Sandor couldn't help a little smile at the simple word. 

"Wife." He replied, pushing her hair back away from her face and letting his hand rest against her neck as he had earlier. 

Sansa hummed softly, her eyes drifting closed for a moment. 

"I could stay like this forever…" she said softly, "right here beneath a Weirwood, safe in your arms." 

It felt like someone reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. He leaned down and kissed her again, then leaned his forehead against hers, giving her a gentle squeeze. He hoped she understood that he felt the same, but the words caught in his throat. She raised one of her hands to cup his burnt cheek and he leaned into her hand automatically. 

"Take me to bed, husband." She murmured after a few moments, and Sandor's breath caught in his throat. 

She rose to her feet, and held out a hand to him, giving him a gentle smile. Sandor swallowed hard, then accepted her hand, letting her interlock their fingers as he rose to his feet. 

She led him away from the Weirwood and back towards the glistening lights of the inn. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, worried that she might grow cold. Sansa hummed happily, and Sandor squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. 

This was what he had desperately wanted for so long now. Ever since the day that Joffrey had forced her to look at her father's head on a spike, when that cunt Trant had hit her, and Sandor had caught her arm and dabbed blood from her lip. That was the day he knew that he'd give anything to keep her safe. And now here she was, a few years later, leading him to the marriage bed. 

Maybe her little songs were real, he thought solemnly for a moment. His dream was coming true, after all, like it would for a valiant knight in a ballad. 

They reached the inn and Sandor dropped his arm from her shoulders, resting his hand instead against her waist, and guided her to the stairs. He stayed close behind her, trying to keep his gaze on her rather than the men he knew were leering at her. 

They reached the door to their room, and Sansa stopped in front of it, turning to look at him. Sandor returned her look for a long moment, then reached for the handle and opened the door. Sansa looked into the room, then back at Sandor, before walking in. He followed her, and barred the door behind them. 

He took a moment to steady himself with his hands braced on the door, then turned around. A cask of wine and two goblets had been left for them on a small table, and Sansa was pouring them each a glass. She extended one to him, and he took it greedily. He remembered just in time to touch his glass to hers before he drained the cup. Sansa watched him, then took the cup from his hands and filled it again, handing it back to him. He sank onto the foot of the bed, and Sansa began to flit around the room. When he looked over his shoulder at her, he saw that the maid from earlier had placed and lit dozens of candles around the bed, and Sansa was moving them so none was within grasping distance from the bed. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and drank more wine. Try as he might to feel affection that Sansa had sensed the fire might make him nervous, a sharp feeling of discontent was settling itself in his stomach. Sansa refilled his cup again, then also sat on the edge of the bed, but far enough away he couldn't touch her. 

Sandor could tell that Sansa was nervous, and he took deep breaths to steady himself. 

"We don't have to do this." Sandor grunted finally, looking over his shoulder at Sansa. 

"Do you not want to?" She asked in a casual voice, though could practically feel the thoughts racing behind her eyes. 

"'Course I want to." He admitted, looking back at his hands. "But I'll give you every opportunity to save yourself from being defiled by the likes of me." 

They sat in silence for a moment, and for once, Sandor knew that it was he who was uncomfortable and Sansa who was calm. 

He heard her rise off the bed but didn't look at her. She took his cup and filled it for a 4th time, then came to stand before him. 

"Do you want me?" She asked softly as he accepted the cup. 

"More than anything." He admitted, staring up into her eyes. Gods, how her eyes made him fall apart. They were like a window into her soul. He could see every feeling she had in them, from strength to fear to determination, and everything in between. 

"Then stop thinking." She said softly, cupping his scarred cheek. "Stop trying to talk yourself out of this. Stop looking for reasons to shut me out. Take me to bed, husband." 

Sandor shuddered a little at her words and she smiled, then turned her back to him and swept her hair over her shoulder. He downed his wine and set the cup on the ground, then set his hands on her hips and tugged her a little closer. She let him guide her, and he saw her take a drink of her own wine as he began to work the ties down the back of her dress. 

He felt her shiver a couple times as his fingers trailed over her soft skin, and he leaned forward to press little kisses to her back. She let the dress fall and pool around her ankles, then kicked it away. She drained the last of her own wine, set down her cup, and turned to face him. 

Sandor's breath caught. He'd felt like an absolute twat purchasing underclothes for her, but it was all worth it as he took in her appearance in the white silk chemise he'd bought. It clung perfectly to every curve and he could see the darker flesh of her nipples through the fabric. 

He groaned audibly as one of his hands found her waist and pulled her a little closer. 

"Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are?" He growled, eyes still scanning over her body. 

She blushed. "I don't think anyone but you has ever looked at me like that." She murmured and ducked her head, letting her hair fall into her face. 

Sandor cupped her cheek and waited until she met his eyes. 

"Everyone looks at you like that." He said, and felt his stomach leap a little at the smile that broke across her face. 

He pulled her in and kissed her, feeling her hands wander his body and slowly remove the dark leather he'd donned for the occasion. She removed the leather and tunic and then leaned into him, their chests separated only by the thin silk of the chemise. Sandor ran his hands up her sides beneath it and quickly lifted it over her head. He tugged down her small clothes, then lifted her to straddle his lap, twisting them over to press her back into the bed. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. He began to kiss his way down her neck, shoulder, and chest, and her hands drifted down to grip his arms, moaning softly under his attentions. 

Sandor kissed his way down her body, hooked her knees over his shoulders and buried his face between her legs. Sansa let out a long, soft moan as her hands tangled in his hair. He licked furiously at her cunt, focusing on her hard little nub. He was determined to make her come at least once before he took her maidenhead. He wanted her to be as ready as possible before he pushed into her for the first time. 

He hummed a little at the thought in spite of himself, and Sansa squirmed hard against him as her head lolled back. 

Her moans and whimpers became more urgent and frequent, and Sandor seized her hips to keep her still as she began to buck against his face. 

Sansa's thighs clenched around his head as she reached her peak, rolling her hips hard into his face as he continued to lick and suckle at her. He rose to his feet when she collapsed into the bed. She was panting hard and looking up at him with hazy, lust filled eyes. Sandor held her gaze as he pulled at the ties on his breeches. 

Then there they were. She was on the bed, naked and panting hard. He stood at the foot of the bed, naked as she was, and staring down at her wantingly.

He couldn't find it in him to move, and she began to squirm and wiggle on the sheets. Sandor was breathing hard as he stared down at her, then slowly climbed up the bed, and settled himself in the cradle of her legs, her thighs resting against his hips. 

Sansa whined a little and moaned, and Sandor wrapped his hands around her hips, pulling her sharply towards him. He lined himself up with her slit and pushed in a little, then leaned over her, bracing his weight on his elbows on either side of her head. 

She smiled up at him, squeezing her legs on his waist a little and resting her hands around his back. Sandor began to move shallowly within her, breathing hard into her neck with the restraint. 

Sansa whimpered and tightened her hands on his ribs. Her ankles crossed behind the small of his back and tugged him wordlessly into her. 

"Sandor…" she moaned softly, trying to pull her harder against him. 

Sandor stilled, still breathing hard and nuzzling into her clavicle. 

"I can't do it." He whispered. 

"Sandor?" 

"I can't. It's going to hurt you, I don't want to hurt you." Sandor wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him but carefully keeping his weight off her. He kept his forehead against her shoulder, breathing hard. 

"Oh Sandor…" she whispered, stroking his hair away from his face. "Please. I want you to take me. I want it to be you." 

Sandor squeezed her a little, but otherwise didn't move. 

"Sandor!" She said a little more insistently, and he raised his head to look at her. "Please… take me. Protect me from the rest. Protect me from anyone who would take me for anything but love." 

Sandor squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his forehead back into her shoulder, breathing hard. 

"Look at me, Sandor." She whispered, and he raised his head again to meet her eyes. "Stop thinking." She stroked his cheek. "Take me. Now. Please, please take me." 

Sandor took a deep breath, and then pressed hard into her all at once. She squeaked and whimpered, clenching her fingers into his skin and burying her face into his neck. 

He held still, cradling her against him. He almost felt like crying, disgusted as he was with himself for tainting her like this. Defiling her. Making her less whole. 

Sansa clung onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

"Thank you," she whispered finally. "Thank you, Sandor. Thank you, thank you, thank you." 

Sandor pulled back a little to look on her face, pushing loose hair back behind her ear. 

"Are you okay?" He whispered, and she smiled, though her eyes stayed closed. 

"Yes." She whispered, then blinked her eyes open to meet his gaze. "Just give me a moment." 

"I hurt you." He whispered sadly, moving one hand to cradle her cheek. "I'm so sorry, little bird. Forgive me." 

"There's nothing to forgive," she whispered. "You didn't hurt me; you saved me. You saved me from everyone else who would've hurt me without a thought. I'm safe with you, Sandor. I'm safe right here." 

Sandor groaned a little, ducking his head back into her clavicle, pressing kisses to her skin. 

"Now claim me," Sansa whispered. "Love me. Make me yours. Please." 

Sandor pulled away slowly, then pushed back into her. The little moan she released was like fuel on the fire in his heart. He moved his arms back so he was resting on his elbows over her, trying to find a steady rhythm as he moved within her. 

She moaned beneath him with every moment he made, gently stroking her fingers over the skin on his back. He kept his pace slow and steady, trying to push from his mind the reflex to pound her into the mattress with all the force he had. His breathing was shaky, but he looked up at her when he felt her gentle tug on his hair. She pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him fiercely. 

"Faster?" She panted softly against his mouth, raising her questioning eyes to meet his. 

Sandor groaned and sped up a little, kissing her again. Sansa moaned hard, pressing her forehead into his shoulder again and lifting her leg higher so she was wrapped around his waist instead of his hips. 

"Sandor!" Sansa whined after a few moments, clenching herself around him. "Please, Sandor! It feels so good, please…" 

He growled into her neck and sped up again, his own moans joining hers. He moved a hand between them to rub at her hard little bundle of nerves as he rocked into her. 

Sansa's arms locked hard around his neck and she screamed into his neck as she reached her climax. Sandor kept his movements steady as she rode out her peak. When she collapsed back into the bed, Sandor gently wrapped his hands around her wrists and pressed them into the bed, pounding into her the way he'd imagined earlier, chasing his own climax. 

She kept moaning, locking her legs back around him. Sandor growled out his own release, burying himself deep inside her as he felt himself spill. 

They clung to each other for a few moments before Sandor rolled off her. They were both panting hard, and Sansa's hand found his, linking their fingers together again. 

Sandor was squeezing his eyes shut, hating himself for ruining her, but then Sansa rolled over to him, wrapping her arm around his chest and laying one leg over his.

"Are you okay?" He asked, trying to sound gentle but knowing it sounded gruff. 

"Oh yes." Sansa whispered. "I'm very much okay." She pulled herself up and kissed him, and he wrapped his arm under her to lay his hand against the small of her back. "Thank you, my love." She whispered against his lips. 

He cradled her face in his hand, searching her eyes for any hint of hurt or regret. He found none. She was beaming at him, her eyes twinkling. Had he really gotten so lucky to have such a beautiful girl look at him like this? To want him like this? To love him even? 

"Stop doubting me." She whispered, stroking his face with her little hand. "Just let me love you." 

He covered her hand with his own. "I'll try, little bird. I'll try to understand." 

"No," Sansa smiled softly. "Don't try to understand. Just accept that I love you." 

He leaned up to kiss her gently, hoping to convey all the feelings he didn't have the words for. That he loved her too, that he'd never deny her a thing, that he would live and die to protect her. His little bird had tied him wrapped around her delicate little finger, and he'd follow her anywhere. 

"Can you go again?" She asked after a few moments, tracing little designs in his chest hair. She peeked up at him with a hopeful look. 

He growled and rolled them over, pressing her into the bed and pinning her wrists above her head again. She gasped a little, linking her legs around him again with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this one took longer than normal! I've had a few more ideas for other stories that have captured my attention, but I'm trying hard to keep working on this one consistently so I can finish it. I think there will only be two more chapters. In the meantime, I'm going to post the first chapter of the other story I've been working on this afternoon, so be on the lookout for that. 😉 please let me know what you think!!


	10. From This Day

Sansa  
\-----------

Sansa woke slowly the next morning. She knew she was safe and content, and that she was somewhere unfamiliar. She flexed her limbs and stretched with a small sigh, smiling into her pillow as she felt how deliciously sore she was between her legs. She groped silently to the other side of the bed, frowning when she felt the sheets cool to touch. 

She finally opened her eyes properly and sat up, clutching the sheets to her bare chest as her eyes scanned the room. 

"Sandor…" she almost purred when her eyes caught his form. 

He was backlit against the early morning light from the open window, but she could see that he'd put on his black leather breeches and that his sword belt was secured around his hips. He stood with his back to her, staring out the window. 

"What is it, husband?" She asked through a yawn, dropping the sheets as she stretched her arms, letting them fall around her waist when she realized they were alone.

She smirked to herself when she saw that Sandor had turned away from the window at her words, his eyes now scanning over her upper body. 

"Nothing, wife." Sandor replied, crossing the room and dropping to one knee next to the bed. "Don't trouble yourself." 

"'Nothing?'" Sansa replied mischievously, stroking her fingers up Sandor's good cheek. "I don't know that I believe 'nothing' brought my husband from his bed this morning." 

Sandor let out a soft growl, his eyes closing at her words. 

"I think my husband would've stayed in bed with me all day, if there was no danger." Sansa's arms had wrapped around his neck, and Sandor was powerless to refuse her. 

Within moments, he had her pinned beneath him. One of his hands held both her wrists securely above her head as she giggled and wrapped her legs around them. 

"Good girls don't tease their shields," he whispered against her lips as his hips ground against her. "Good girls let their shields focus on keeping them safe." 

"It's a good thing you're not just my shield then, husband." Sansa whispered just before the Hound claimed her in a passionate kiss. 

"Assign me to one of your ladies." Sandor growled as he suddenly broke their kiss. Sansa gave him a confused look, hoping her hurt at the words didn't shine in her eyes. 

"What?" She managed to ask. 

"When we're back in Winterfell. Won't be able to focus with you as my charge." He mumbled into her neck. "Best set me to protect someone else, let those with a clear mind protect you." 

"Sandor…" she chastised gently, trying to force him to meet her gaze. "Sandor, I don't want anyone but you protecting me." 

She felt him still against her. "You don't?" He asked softly into her collarbone, not meeting her eyes. 

"No." She whispered calmly, dragging her fingers through his hair and along his scalp. "I just want you. I may have many guards at my disposal someday, but you are the only one I shall ever trust." 

He raised his face from her clavicle. "You don't mean that." He whispered. "I know you'd rather have brave and loyal men in your service." 

"Oh Sandor…" she whispered, tracing his hard cheekbone with her fingers. "Are you not loyal to me?" 

"I am." He said defensively, trying to ignore the way his fingers tightened into her hip. 

"Are you not strong enough to fight off any man who would take me for my title?" 

"I'd never let them." He growled, not knowing what point she was getting at. 

"Are you not brave enough to give your life for mine?" 

"I would without thinking." He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. 

"And are you kind enough to bring your lady to bed when she asks? Are you gentle enough to never hurt her?" 

Sandor let out a wordless growl at her last question, his face dropping back into her clavicle and pressing light kisses there. 

"You are the only man that has any business protecting me." Sansa whispered, linking her ankles together behind his back. "You are the only man that can both protect me and pleasure me. You are the only man I want by my side. And I will not send you to watch after anyone else." 

He thrust into her at that and she gasped. She hadn't even noticed him untying him breeches. She let out a long, slow moan as he settled himself into her, pausing for a moment to let her adjust. There was a twinge of pain at the stretch, and the soreness, but mostly the overwhelming fullness felt so good. 

He breathed hard against her neck, pressing gentle kisses to her skin, while he waited for her. Sansa wiggled a little and linked her fingers behind Sandor's neck. 

"Are you okay?" He asked softly, pressing a kiss to the hollow behind her ear. 

"Mmm." She moaned softly, rolling her hips up to meet his. 

He growled softly and began to move slowly, drawing almost all the way out and sinking back in again. Sansa heard herself whine, and Sandor chuckled darkly. He kept his agonizingly slow pace, and Sansa dug her fingers into his shoulders with a frustrated groan as she tried to arch up into him. 

"Look at me." 

Her eyes snapped open at once, meeting his gaze. She couldn't quite place the look in his eyes, something like longing combined with fierceness. But they were soft, his guard dropped. His stormcloud grey eyes were like a window into his very soul, and his vulnerability in that moment took her breath away. 

"I love you, Sansa Stark." He rasped to her, cradling her cheek in one of his huge hands, never ceasing his slow movements within her. She opened her mouth to reply, but he silenced her by sliding his thumb over her lips. "Do you understand me? Let me love you." 

She nodded mutely, and he captured her lips with his. His kiss was as slow and deliberate as the pace of his hips. His weight rested on his forearm, his hand still cradling her face. His other hand had a firm grip on her hip, and she felt the hilt of his sword bumping into her on her other side.

She relaxed into his pace finally, and let her hands explore his body; the wide expanse of his shoulders, the scars on his chest and belly, the rippling muscles of his back. He broke their kiss and hummed softly, nuzzling his face into her hair. 

Sansa felt a happy moan leave her throat and tilted her head back into the pillows, moaning again when Sandor nibbled at her neck. 

"Does it feel good, little bird?" He growled into her ear, and she nodded, unable to find any words to answer him. He felt him smile against her neck, and the hand on her hip slid under her. His arm resting beneath her pulled their bodies closer and the angle of his thrusts changed. Sansa gasped out another moan, her hands sliding down to the small of his back, pushing on him a little. He rasped out another chuckle as he shifted a little, letting her hands guide him. 

"Sandor…" she whispered, biting her bottom lip and squeezing her eyes shut. 

"None of that now," he grunted, sliding his thumb across her lip. "I want to hear you sing, little bird. I want you to sing for me." 

She released her lower lip from between her teeth and moaned. The heat of her climax was pooling between her hips, building slower than ever before, but somehow so much fiercer. 

"Look at me," he repeated, and she opened her eyes again. 

She leaned up and kissed him, her hands trailing up his back again, wrapping her arms securely around him. 

He dropped his hand from her face and ran it down the length of her body, resting finally behind her knee. He pushed her leg up, his hand curling around the back of her thigh, just above her knee. She struggled to keep her eyes open as his slow strokes touched something deep inside of her. She moaned again, louder and longer, digging the pads of her fingers into his flesh. 

His head fell forward and he grunted, his hair falling into his face. 

"Please, Sandor…" she whimpered, "please, please, please…" 

He growled into her throat and finally, finally sped up. She climaxed almost at once, crying out loudly. Her fingers twisted into his hair at the nape of his neck as she cried his name, clenching her sex down around him involuntarily. 

"Little bird…" he grunted into her neck, his hand on her leg squeezing, and she felt him shudder as he spilled into her. 

He released her leg and collapsed on her, making her grunt as her breath rushed out of her. 

"Shit, are you okay?" He asked as he rolled off her. 

"I'm fine." She giggled, curling into his side. "That was amazing." She whispered, ducking her face into his chest as she felt her face grow hot. 

He chuckled and ran his hand down her hair. Sansa was almost back asleep when the rumble of Sandor's voice yanked her back to consciousness. 

"We need to get back on our way, little bird." 

"Can we stay here one more day?" She asked, resisting the temptation to pout at him. 

"I wish we could." He replied, stroking his fingers up and down her back. "But you're not going to be safe until we reach Castle Black, and Littlefinger will be realizing soon that you're not coming to the Vale. It's been at least a moon now, we need to get to the wall before he sends spies." 

"He's probably had spies on us all along." Sansa murmured, absentmindedly tracing her fingers along various scars on his stomach. 

His fingers stilled on her back for a heartbeat as he considered her words, then began again. "Aye, you're probably right." 

"Littlefinger doesn't scare me." Sansa said decisively, pushing up on her elbow to look at Sandor's face. Her palm lay flat against his belly now. "There's nothing he can do to me, as long as I have you." 

Sandor breathed a little chuckle, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

"I appreciate your confidence in me, little bird," he said with a soft smile, "but if what Littlefucker said is true, and he's courting your Aunt Lysa, he's like to have the Knights of the Vale at his command." 

Sansa regarded him curiously for a moment. "Surely it wouldn't be as simple as all that?" Sansa asked. "Lysa wouldn't give over everything to him." 

Sandor sighed a little, cupping her cheek again. "Have you ever met Lysa?" 

"No," Sansa shook her head, "she refused to travel North, and mother didn't want us to go to King's Landing." 

"I didn't know her well, or cross her path often," Sandor said slowly, "but that bitch is nuttier than squirrel shit." 

Sansa snorted in a very unladylike manner at that, and Sandor smiled a little. 

"If Littlefucker knows where to find us, and he can plant the seed that I've kidnapped you, or raped you, she could send thousands of soldiers after us. I'm good at killing, little bird, but I can't defeat an army alone." 

"Then what does it matter if we make it to Castle Black first? There aren't enough men of the Night's Watch to face an army either." Sansa's brow furrowed with worry. 

"If we're already at Castle Black, they'll send in a commander or two under a white flag." Sandor said as he pressed his index finger between Sansa's knitted eyebrows, causing her to giggle a little and relax her expression. "They'll seek an audience with you and your brother, away from me, and determine whether you need rescuing." 

"Which I don't." Sansa said firmly, and Sandor chuckled. 

"No, little bird, you don't. Then all Littlefucker can do is try to find a sellsword stupid enough to travel North and take you against your will, which isn't fucking likely if the sellsword knows he'll have to go through me." He looked almost proud as he finished. 

Sansa leaned up and kissed him gently. "Can we at least stay in bed a little longer?" She whispered against his lips. 

He chuckled again. "Aye, little bird. Just a little longer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long time between updates! I'm a terrible, bad, horrible person for it. I've been entirely too focused on my other fic. I hope this fluffy smut made up for it just a little. Anyhoo, I think one more chapter and then an epilogue, and this story will be done! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and if you're so inclined, check out my other fic "Look But Don't Feel." It's a Modern Westeros AU, and obviously sansan.


	11. Until The End of My Days

Sandor  
\-----------

Sandor wanted to be exasperated. He wanted to be irritated. He wanted to snap at her to get a fucking move on. 

But he couldn't. 

He watched Sansa whisper with Jeyne, the girl he'd paid to help Sansa prepare yesterday, and couldn't help the swell of affection for his sweet little wife. 

The girls had their heads close together, Sansa was gesturing with her hands and her cheeks were tinged pink, and he couldn't help chuckle, knowing that she was recounting their wedding night to the girl. 

"M'lord?" The stable boy approached hesitantly. 

"Not a lord, boy." Sandor replied reflexively. 

"Uh, yes. Um, mayhap if your lady is not ready to leave yet, I might return your horse to the stable?" The boy said nervously. 

Sandor grumbled and started toward Sansa, wondering as he went if their marriage meant that he was indeed a lord now, or that she was no longer a lady. He snorted at that thought. She'd always be a lady, titles be damned. 

The girls giggled as Sandor approached, Sansa's cheeks flashing scarlet. 

"We need to go now, little bird." He said, brushing loose strands of hair behind her ear. 

"Just a bit longer? Please, Sandor?" Sansa pouted up at him. 

His wavering resolve must've been plain on his face because Jeyne snorted, then quickly composed her face and looked away when he flashed a glare at her. 

"Now, little bird." He said, offering his hand. 

She pouted for another moment before Jeyne grasped her hands. 

"You might be brave enough to test your lord's patience, but I'm not." Jeyne giggled and pulled Sansa into a tight embrace. "Write to me when you reach safety, m'lady." 

"Of course! You must come visit once I return home." Sansa squeezed her new friend, then gave Sandor a dazzling smile as she accepted his hand. 

She was back in her traveling clothes, her wedding dress tucked safety into her bag, but she looked more beautiful like this than she ever had before. 

Sandor led her back to Stranger and hoisted her into the saddle. She swung one of her legs around to the opposite side of the saddle, then groaned, her eyes closing in pain. Sandor smirked as he offered his hand again, steadying her as she pulled her leg back over to sit side face. She was blushing again and smoothed her hands over her skirts, biting her lip. Sandor hoisted up behind her, then caught her chin and turned her to look up at him. 

"Sore?" He asked mischievously, grinning as she blushed deeper. 

He leaned down and kissed her, then took the reins from the stable boy. He wrapped one arm securely around Sansa's back and kicked Stranger into a trot. Sansa leaned around him to wave farewell to Jeyne, then settled herself into his chest. 

Much to Sansa's displeasure, Sandor had them riding longer and harder than he had since the first week after they'd left King's Landing. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, now that Sansa had pointed out Littlefinger likely had been watching them all along. 

Every night when they stopped, Sansa would start to undress, giving him meaningful looks. It took every ounce of restraint he had to stop her, but he couldn't be vigilant to their surroundings when he was buried in her. 

He was exhausted by the time Castle Black came into view. He'd been sleeping against a tree every night, the hilt of his sword in his hand and Sansa in his arms. He'd never admit it, but he knew he was looking forward to a hot bath even more than she was at this point. 

"That's it, isn't it? That's Castle Black?" Sansa pointed, the structure was barely more than a spec on the horizon. 

"Aye." He grumbled. 

Shadows were already elongating with the setting sun. There wasn't much in the way of trees or shelter between them and the wall. They wouldn't make it before it was dark, and he thought it unwise to attempt to enter the castle in the middle of the night. 

"What's wrong?" Sansa asked, looking up at him. 

He explained the dilemma and she considered for a moment. 

"Molestown." She said decisively. 

"What the bloody hell is Molestown?" He asked. 

She blushed. "It's not a town so much as a cluster of brothels." She explained. "For the men of the Night's Watch. They aren't allowed to marry." 

"You're suggesting we stay in a whore house?" He asked incredulously, looking down at her. 

"Just a room, I'm not suggesting we pay for… services." She blushed furiously. 

"You've changed, little bird." He said proudly, smiling down at her. 

They reached Molestown an hour or two after the sun had set. Castle Black disappeared into the darkness, but Sandor suspected it was at least another half a day's ride. 

Sandor woke in the morning with a start, reaching around frantically for his sword. 

"Sandor, hush! It's just me." 

Sansa's face came into focus and he let himself fall back into the bed. 

"Sorry." He yawned, stretching out his limbs. 

"I'm sorry to wake you, my love, but it's nearly midday. If we stay here much longer, we might as well stay another night." Sansa looked at him apologetically. 

"Midday?" He repeated, pushing himself up on his elbows. Sansa nodded. 

Sandor looked around the room. He barely remembered eating last night when they arrived, let alone coming to a room.

"I'm sorry, little bird." He said as he swung his legs out of bed. "Have you eaten?" 

"Yes, I brought you some bread." She motioned to a little table that had bread, cheese, and a large cup of ale. 

He wolfed his breakfast down quickly, donned his armor and sword belt, and scooped up their bags. Sansa followed him out of the room and down the stairs, and they were off again after just a few minutes. 

"Have you thought about how you'll tell him?" Sandor asked after a while. "That we're married." He answered her unspoken question when she looked up at him. 

"Oh." She blushed. "Well… I thought I'd just come out and say it." Sandor barked out a laugh. "What?" She demanded incredulously. 

"Might make a better plan than that, little bird." He chuckled. "As far as they know, I'm a Lannister man. I'd be surprised if they don't draw on me as soon as they see me." 

Sansa frowned up at him. "They won't." She said with a decisive nod, turning her attention back to the looming castle. 

Sandor sighed and shook his head. She'd changed, yes, but still so naive when it came to her family. 

Sansa began to bounce excitedly in the saddle as they drew closer. Finally, they heard a single horn blast. 

"Rider approaching!" A distant voice called. 

Sandor steeled himself for what they were walking into. Sansa would be safe, he knew that, and he wasn't scared of Night's Watch swordsmen. Archers, though… he could have 30 arrows in him with a single command. 

"Open the gates!" 

Sandor's heart was pounding in his chest as they came into the courtyard of Castle Black. He dismounted quickly and helped Sansa down. He resisted the urge to follow right behind her as she walked further into the yard, her eyes scanning for a familiar face. 

"Someone get the Lord Commander!" Another unfamiliar voice called. 

Sandor stayed at Stranger's side; the beast seemed as restless and unnerved as he was as they watched Sansa walk away from them. He saw the exact moment that she finally saw her brother. She froze on the spot, and Sandor followed her gaze.

Jon was approaching her slowly, as though if he moved too fast she might disappear. He came to a stop a few feet from her, and they just stared at each other for a long moment. 

Then they hurdled for each other at the same time. Sansa sobbed as Jon swept her off her feet and spun her around once, and Sandor couldn't help but smile a little. 

Another man approached after a moment, his hair as red as Sansa's, but short and curlier. 

"Robb!" Sansa sobbed, throwing herself into the newcomers arms. He stumbled a little at the impact. "You're alive! Thank the Gods, Robb, you're alive!" 

Stranger made a huffing noise that drew Jon's and Robb's attention. 

"That's the Hound." Robb said. 

"A Lannister man." Jon agreed, and they both drew their swords, a dozen men around the yard following their lead. 

Sandor heard a distant man call for archers, and resisted the instinct to draw his own sword. 

"No!" Sansa said, quickly placing herself between Sandor and her brothers. 

Jon pushed her gently out of their path, never taking his eyes from Sandor. 

"Stop it! He's not a Lannister man anymore, he helped me escape!" 

The brothers glanced at each other, but didn't lower their swords. 

"Put away your swords! Please, Jon! He's my hus… he's my sworn shield." Sansa shot Sandor an apologetic look and he smirked. 

Jon and Robb looked at Sansa, then back at Sandor. Sandor knew that they were waiting for him to remove his sword belt and toss it away in a gesture of good faith, just as he knew that that would not happen. He'd already not drawn his sword, that was the most faith he could muster. 

He met Sansa's gaze, wishing he could tease her for chickening out from introducing him as her husband. She seemed to read his mind though, and she squared her shoulders, turning back to her brothers. 

"He's also my husband." She said forcefully. 

Her brother's heads snapped around as one to look at her. Jon's brow was furrowed and Robb's mouth hanging open. Sansa didn't seem to intend to offer more information than that, so after a moment Sandor took a step forward. 

"I gave her the same look when she suggested it." He rumbled. 

"When YOU suggested it?" Robb repeated incredulously. 

"Aye, little minx had to talk me into it." Sandor came close enough to put a hand on Sansa's shoulder, and she flashed a smile to him.

"Lower your weapons." She instructed her brothers. 

They both dropped their sword arms, but neither moved to sheath their blades. They were both regarding Sandor suspiciously, then Jon looked back at Sansa. 

"It was your idea?" He asked, and Sansa nodded once. "He hasn't hurt you?" She shook her head. "You're happy?" She nodded again, then smiled up at Sandor. 

Jon regarded Sandor for a long moment, then shrugged and sheathed his sword. The tension breaking in the courtyard was palpable as the men around them lowered their weapons and conversation began to buzz again. 

"Guess that makes us brothers then, aye?" Jon offered his hand to Sandor with an easy smile.

"Aye." Sandor agreed, "suppose it does." 

"Grenn," he called over his shoulder, "tend to my new brother's horse." Jon motioned for them to follow as he turned away and led them inside. 

Sansa and Robb followed him at once, but Sandor hesitated. Was that it? They accepted him as their brother? Just like that? 

"Husband?" 

The three siblings had stopped, and Sansa held her hand out to him. He shook his head a little and followed, taking Sansa's hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Her brothers looked surprised at the show of affection and exchanged a look, then Jon led them into the dining hall. 

"Samwell!" Jon called, and a fat boy appeared out of nowhere. "Get some of that stew we had for lunch, please, and ale." 

The fat boy scurried away and Jon motioned for them to sit. 

"They all listen to you." Sansa observed sounding impressed.

"He's the Lord Commander." Robb said, rolling his eyes at Jon's noncommittal shrug. 

"Lord Commander! That's wonderful, Jon!" 

Sandor sat in silence as the siblings caught up. They frequently reached across the table for Sansa's hand, or she reached for theirs, and Sandor found himself distinctly uncomfortable; this was not how brothers behaved in his family. 

The fat boy returned with two huge bowls of stew and a cask of ale. Sandor frowned into his cup after taking a large drink. 

"You'd think after a thousand years we could make a decent ale." Jon said, smiling at Sandor's reaction. "Join us, Samwell. This is my sister, Sansa. And her husband… I'm sorry, I don't actually know your name, brother." 

Sandor raised his one eyebrow at the apologetic look from Jon. "Clegane." He said after a moment. "Sandor Clegane." 

He began wolfing down the proffered stew, which was significantly better than the ale. After they ate, Jon instructed Samwell to ready a room and a bath for them, and yielded to Sansa's badgering to see the Lord Commanders chambers. 

Sandor left the dining hall, leaning against a rail overlooking the training yard. 

"Do you love her?" 

He started. He hadn't heard Robb approach. The boy was skinny and pale, and walked with a cane. Sandor regarded him for a long moment. 

"Aye." He said finally, turning away from Robb and back to the yard. 

"Good." Robb leaned against the rail next to him, also looking out onto the yard. "Thank you for helping her." 

"I didn't do it for you." He snapped. 

"I know." Robb said after a moment. "I'm grateful anyways." 

"I couldn't leave her there." Sandor said after a moment. "The way they treated her made me sick. I asked her to come with me, but I would've taken her from there no matter what she said." 

"The way they treated her?" Robb repeated. "Baelish said the girls were safe and happy." 

Sandor barked out a mirthless laugh and Robb flinched. "The king had her beat every time you won a battle, boy." He told Robb. "He'd drag her before the court, point a loaded crossbow at her, claim she knew all about your plans and kept them to herself to humiliate him. His knights would beat her, tear at her clothes…" he trailed off as he looked at Robb. Horror was painted clear as day across the pale boys face, and Sandor suddenly felt guilty for putting it all on him. 

"I didn't know." He whispered, shaking his head. "I would've come for her if… I didn't know." 

Sandor grunted and turned back to the yard, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. He'd assumed the King in the North was smart enough to understand the realities his sister faced. Then again, he'd assumed that Ned Stark was smart enough to keep his head attached to his body. Mayhap he wasn't a good judge of character after all.

"What did they do to Arya?" Robb asked quietly, and Sandor's head snapped back around. 

"Arya slipped away." He said. "Before your father lost his head, even. Disappeared from a dancing lesson the day your father was captured, never to be seen again." 

Robb looked like he couldn't decide whether that made him feel better or worse, and turned back to the yard. 

"Is it true what Sansa said about you?" Robb asked after a moment. "You'd kill and die for her?" 

Sandor smiled down at his new brother. "More than that, boy. I'll live for her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got 99 problems and this chapter was 47 of them. Please let me know what you think!!


	12. Epilogue

Sansa stood up on the rampart, the spot her father always stood when he needed to think, looking out over the Winterfell courtyard. She understood now why her father chose this spot, and it was her favorite place in all of Winterfell. She had a perfect view of the training yard, where Sandor and Jon stood on either side of Rickon, just as Jon and Robb had once stood with Bran. 

Rickon was good with bow, and with a dagger, thanks to Osha, and preferred to hone those skills than face what he was desperately lacking as a swordsman. Arya sparred with Brienne behind them, and Sansa could see even from here how frustrated Brienne was with Arya's skill.

Rickon turned suddenly, thrusting the bow towards Sandor, who laughed and took a step back, shaking his head. Sansa couldn't hear what they said from up here, but knew by the look on Jon's face that he was taunting Sandor. Sandor glowered and snatched the bow from Rickon, taking his place in front of the target. He fumbled with the arrow for a moment, but hit a bullseye. 

Sandor gave Jon a triumphant look and stumped away, catching a red haired child in each arm as they tried to run across the yard, before they could get in Arya and Brienne's way. Sansa heard the children squeal and absentmindedly rubbed her swollen belly, smiling down at her husband and two children. 

Eddard was 5 and huge for his age, nearly clearing Arya's shoulder already. He wasn't quite strong enough yet to lift Sandor's broadsword, but loved to run after his father, dragging the sword along on the ground behind him. Benjen was 2 and nearly always clasped to Jon's leg, begging his uncle to teach him. 

"Teach you what, child?" Jon would ask the boy. 

"Everything!" Benjen would squeal, throwing his arms in the air and spinning in circles, before attaching himself back to Jon's leg. 

Robb and Bran spent most of their time in the Godswood. Bran doing his odd raven thing that Sansa still didn't quite understand, and Robb praying for guidance from the Old Gods, and for rest for his late wife and unborn child. Robb never fully recovered. Not from the loss of Talisa, nor the knife in the gut from Roose Bolton. He couldn't hold down solid food from the damage to his organs, and was still pale and skinny, leaning heavily on Bran's wheelchair or a cane whenever he walked. 

Ramsay had been executed when Jon learned of the way he had tortured and castrated Theon. He considered executing Theon as well, but ended up sending him to the wall to take the black. Sansa had been shocked to learn it was Sandor who had swayed Jon's decision. 

"Poor fucker already lost his cock," Sandor had said dismissively when Sansa confronted him. "The better punishment is to make him live without it." 

Robb and Jon had allowed Sansa to take on most of the duties of Winterfell, Sandor begrudgingly filling his role as a lord alongside her. Sansa was pleasantly surprised to find that Sandor was quite good at being a Lord. 

"So long as these fuckers don't try to name me King in the fucking North." He'd grumbled to her when she commented on it, just a few weeks after Jon had reluctantly accepted the title. "And Robb is in no condition to do it, moping and whinging like he does." She'd smacked his arm for comparing Robb's grief to 'whinging' and he'd chuckled at her, but hadn't done it again. 

This was better than what she'd imagined all those years ago, when she and Sandor had traveled north. She'd released the hope that everything would be normal again as soon as she'd heard of the Red Wedding and Theon's betrayal. But here they all were, all her brothers and her sister home again, two beautiful children and a third any day now, and a husband she knew in her soul her father would've approved of. He was brave and gentle and strong. 

Rickon was leading Eddard and Benjen out of the yard now, as Jon faced off to Arya, and Sandor to Brienne. Sansa descended the stairs and came to Rickon's side. 

"How is my sister today, mum?" Eddard asked, patting Sansa's belly. 

"She's hungry." Sansa told him and knelt down to pull both of her sons in for a hug. The boys had decided this babe was a girl, after they'd found Sandor in the Cript, on his knees before the little alter they'd built after Sansa miscarried her first pregnancy. She'd been far enough along for them to hold her, and bury her, and Sandor hadn't been the same for a long time. 

She'd explained to the boys as simply as she could. Benjen didn't understand any of it, and Eddard understood just enough to declare that this babe is a girl. Sansa hadn't known before then that Sandor ever visited the Cript without her, but she found him down there more and more the farther she got into her pregnancy. 

Sansa scooped Benjen into her arms and stood, and Eddard leaned into her side. Rickon ruffled Eddard's hair, and the four of them stood at the edge of the yard, watching as Jon, Arya, Sandor, and Brienne sparred. Arya disarmed Jon, who raised his hands in surrender and back away. Sandor landed a kick to Brienne's gut that sent her tumbling to the ground. Sandor and Arya looked at each other for a moment, sizing each other up. 

"I got 10 silvers that says Arya puts your husband on his arse." Jon said as he approached the group. 

"I'll take that bet." Robb appeared then, and Sansa shook her head, smiling, as her brothers sealed the bet with a handshake. 

It was quite comical really, watching Sandor and Arya spar. She was quick and tiny, he was huge and slow, but seemed to be able to sense her moves before she made them. Sandor finally sent Arya flying with a kick and threw his training sword to the ground. Robb cheered and Jon groaned at the same time. 

"You cheated!" Arya objected, jumping to her feet. 

"Fuck off." Sandor replied curtly, marching towards Sansa. Blood trickled down his face from a cut above the eye. 

"How did she manage to cut you with a wooden sword, my love?" Sansa asked with a smirk, raising one hand toward the cut. 

Sandor made a noncommittal grunt, bracing his hands on the low fence that separated them and breathing hard. 

"Getting too old to follow the rules, Clegane?" Arya taunted as she dusted herself off. 

"Fuck off!" Sandor repeated. 

"Father said a bad word!" Eddard informed Sansa, tugging at her skirt, and Sandor chuckled, reaching down to ruffle Eddard's hair. 

"Come on, love, let's get you cleaned up." Sansa said. She lowered Benjen to the ground, and he immediately ran right past Jon to Arya. 

"Teach me!" Benjen said as we wrapped his chubby little arms around Arya's leg. 

"What?" Arya said in surprise, exchanging a confused look with Jon. 

"How you make uncles sword go WHOOSH!" Benjen cheered. 

"Hey!" Jon objected as Sansa took Sandor's hand and led him inside. 

They were quiet as they made their way to their chambers. Sandor plunked himself in a chair by the hearth while Sansa gathered a bowl of water and a cloth. He pulled her into his lap and she giggled, then set about cleaning the cut. 

"It's not deep," she told him as she finished, dropping the cloth back into the bowl and wrapping her arms around his neck. 

Sandor hummed, rubbing her belly absentmindedly. 

"Do you think the boys are right, little bird?" He asked softly. "That this one is a girl?" 

"I hope so." Sansa replied, pressing a kiss to his scarred temple. 

"If it is…" Sandor said slowly, "can we name her Eleanor? For my sister?" 

"Of course, my love." Sansa said with a smile, placing her hand on top of his on her belly. 

He kissed her, then lifted her into his arms as he stood, carrying her to the bed. Sansa giggled as he set her down, then quickly started pulling at the clasps of his armor, as he reached around her and undid the buttons on the back of her dress. They were experts at undressing each other now, and it was mere seconds before they lay naked in bed together. Her belly made their coupling more complicated, but they'd found a few positions that were comfortable. 

Sansa pushed Sandor onto his back and awkwardly clambered on top of him. He raised his legs automatically, planting his feet on the bed so she could lean back on his thighs. She lowered herself onto him and they both moaned. Sandor's hands found her hips and guided her movements on him. Sansa peaked quickly, Sandor knew just what to do now to make her sing. He continued his motions, rocking up into her and guiding her hips, and peaked soon after. 

Sansa collapsed back against his thighs, grinning down at him. Sandor rubbed her belly again absentmindedly, smirking to himself as his thumb brushed over her distended belly button. 

"I love you." He said softly after a moment. "More than anything." 

"Except our children?" She tried for a stern voice, but knew it didn't come across. 

"Aye," he chuckled. "I wager I might love them just a bit more." 

"Good." She smiled down at him. 

They kissed awkwardly, him trying to sit up around her belly and her trying to lean down. They both laughed, and he carefully lifted her and rolled her to the side. He rose from the bed and began to dress. Sansa followed him after a moment. 

"How many more do you want?" She asked as she stood. 

"Babes?" He asked. "Fuck, as many as you'll give me, little bird." He chuckled. 

She smiled at him as she pulled a clean shift from a drawer. She pulled it over her head and then walked toward him. He dressed like a northman now, all dark colors, leather, and fur. It suited him, and Robb told her frequently that seeing them together reminded them of their parents. Sansa swatted Sandor's hands away from the buttons of his jerkin and began to fasten them for him. 

Kissed her when she was done, and she melted into him. She never got tired of this, holding him, kissing him, making love with him. And she didn't think she ever would. 

He broke the kiss and dropped back into his chair to pull on his boots. Sansa moved to the looking glass to fix her hair, then felt a sudden gush of liquid from between her legs. She froze. She'd only felt that twice before. 

"Sansa? Are you alright?" Sandor was suddenly beside her, gripping her chin and turning her to look at him. "What's wrong, little bird?" 

"Get Maester Luwin." She whispered. "Time to find out if we're having a girl." 

Sandor's eyes widened. He dropped to his knees in front of her and kissed her belly. He whispered for a moment and Sansa thought he might be praying. 

He rose to his feet and kissed her hard, then practically ran from the room. 

She labored longer than she had with either of the boys, and it was the next morning they heard their child cry. 

"Well?" Sandor demanded. He was in the bed behind Sansa, his legs on either side of her and her hands in his. She had collapsed back into his chest, breathing hard. 

"The boys were right." Maester Luwin smiled. He bundled up the babe and came around the side of the bed, carefully passing her to Sansa. "A beautiful little girl." 

Silent tears streamed down Sansa's face as she held her daughter. Her perfect little daughter. Sandor cradled the back of the babes head in his huge hand, and Sansa craned her neck to look up at him. He was crying too. 

"She's perfect." He whispered, looking down into little Eleanor's face. 

"Can we come in yet!" Eddard shouted from the other side of the door, followed by a sharp smack. "Ouch!" 

"Give them a moment." She heard Jon. 

Sandor cupped Sansa's cheek and kissed her hard. 

"I love you, little bird." He whispered against her lips. He wrapped Sansa securely in his arms, leaning his head against hers, as they stared down at their daughter. 

A few moments later, Arya entered the room. 

"Why does she get to-" Eddard started to object.

"Because I'm a girl, and I'm a grown up." Arya said as she shut the door. "Those boys are going to break this door down if you don't let them in soon." Arya said, quickly crossing the room. 

"Come meet your niece." Sansa gave Arya a watery smile. 

"Niece? The little shits were right?" Arya perched on the edge of the bed. "Sandor, get it together. Can't let your sons see you crying harder than the new babe." 

Sansa gave Arya's arm a little smack and frowned at her. 

"Are you ready?" Sansa asked Sandor. He didn't look away from Eleanor, just nodded silently. "Let them in." She whispered to Arya, who grinned and bounced back to the door. 

"Alright boys, remember; mum's quite tired, so be gentle and use inside voices like we talked about." Arya warned the boys, and Sansa heard them agree. 

The boys ran across the room, squealing with excitement as soon as they saw the bundle in Sansa's arms. Arya threw her hands up and shook her head, then motioned Jon, Robb, and Rickon inside. 

Eddard quickly climbed up the bed to get a good look, and Jon scooped up Benjen and set him on the bed. 

"This is your sister." Sansa whispered to the boys. "Eleanor." 

Her siblings gathered around the bed, murmuring congratulations and trying to get a look at Eleanor. The boys sat patiently on the bed, leaning into Sansa and patting the bundle that held their sister with gentle hands. 

A fresh wave of tears coursed down Sansa's cheeks. She had everything she'd ever wanted, she realized suddenly as she looked around the room. Jon and Arya teased Sandor, Rickon and Robb had pulled up the chairs from the hearth to sit at the foot of the bed, Eddard and Benjen cuddled into her sides, patiently waiting to hold their new sister. Sansa blinked the tears from her eyes as she twisted a little to look at Sandor. He returned her smile and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

Everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it guys! I hope you enjoyed my first venture into sansan; I certainly did. I've been reading a lot of tragic ending fics lately, so I had to give them a happy ending. I have many more ideas swirling, so stay on the lookout! 
> 
> Please let me know what your thoughts are! 
> 
> Xo

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I've been obsessively reading SanSan fics for the past week and have a pretty solid idea of where I want to go with this, but not really sure how I'm gonna get there or how long it'll take. Like I said at the beginning, this is my first time writing in a few years, so lay on the constructive criticism so I can give myself a little tune up!


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